


I Know Tomorrow

by orro



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Ancient Egypt, F/M, Ghosts, Historical, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orro/pseuds/orro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being stolen isn't a new experience for Kisara so when a man proclaiming to be the King of Thieves kidnaps her from the palace prison she doesn't think much of it. It's the fact that he keeps Kisara as days turn into months that worries her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Item One: This fic will eventually become explicit though at the moment it is not. When the chapters containing explicit material happen the rating will change accordingly. 
> 
> Item Two: Most information presented about Ancient Egypt is accurate though for the most part I have relied on my memory rather than researching anew. Some facts were double checked and fixed. There will be errors and mistakes for which I apologize. 
> 
> Item Three: Please enjoy!

Kisara’s prison is comfortable and she can get undisturbed sleep which is a precious commodity for her. It is still a prison but she has never succeeded in getting out of one and there’s no reason to think that she would manage it now. The guards walking past at regular intervals and occasionally standing directly outside of her cage are testament enough to that. 

Again, not that Kisara has ever been foolish enough to try an escape. She rolls over onto her side and burrows further into the blankets. They are clean and decent, though she has been sleeping on dirt and rock as of late and this is paradise comparatively. 

Her eyes are closed but she frowns as the ground beneath her shakes. Kisara sits up but she sees no guards; the walls are jumping around and dust falls from the ceiling. She gets up, nearly falling over at the shaking ground and grabs onto the bars before she crashes. 

The wall behind her explodes and Kisara holds her breath. She has always lived near death. Perhaps today it will stop nipping at her heels and finally come for her despite all of her running. 

A man in a red robe appears from the rubble though he has only a slight dusting of dust. Something in Kisara’s belly curls away from him though she is the only person in the room beside him so there is no way for her to hide

“Oh? Is this a jail?” The man in red says as he jumps down from the snake beast he rides. He blinks and then his gaze narrows onto Kisara. She goes still, wondering how much he has in common with his beast. “And what are you?” 

Kisara says nothing. There is no place for her to run and there is a cold feeling growing in her toes and fingertips. She’s felt this before and she knows that she will pass out shortly and wake up to destruction. And if she’s lucky she’ll be all alone in some desolate place. 

“I can see…” the man murmurs. He comes to a decision, and the beast reaches out and grabs her. 

Kisara gasps and turns her gaze to outside the bars, wondering if the priest who saved her will perform the same miracle. She knows nothing about this Priest Set save for his name, and she isn’t in the least bit surprised that he fails to show up. One miracle was too good for the likes of her.

The beast flies and if she hadn’t just been kidnapped she would be able to marvel more about it. She’s dreamed of flying, scores of times, but she’d never believed it would happen. The beauty of it is enough to let her forget the misery of her life but all too soon she is back on the ground. 

The beast doesn’t hurl her but it isn’t gentle either and Kisara winces as the sand scrapes against her skin. She hears footsteps but before she can move there is a rough hand on her chin forcing her head up. 

“What are you?” 

Kisara stares up into the face, her attention distracted from the question by the scar across his face. She is ignorant but even she can tell that this man is not to be trusted. He has white hair, like hers, and this is enough to loosen her tongue, stupid as the reason is. 

“My name is Kisara.” 

“I didn’t ask for your name,” he says in a scornful tone. “Were you a pet of the priests? You have power but you haven’t used it yet. Do you use it only on their commands?” 

Kisara doesn’t force her face away but she does shift so that she is sitting more comfortably. Her neck is beginning to ache. 

“I know of no priests. I only know of the one who saved me, Priest Set. But I have never met him.” 

The man in the red cloak makes a noise but he lets go of her and bends down to meet her eyes. 

“And why would he save someone like you?” 

“I don’t know,” Kisara says after a moment. She has asked herself that a hundred times and a hundred times more. The only reason she can think of is that he is interested in a foreigner. It’s not the first time nor will it probably be the last time.

He gives her an odd look. 

“You’re strange,” he says and Kisara doesn’t know how to respond to that. This man commands a beast and yet he calls her names. 

“If you say so,” she says with a shrug. 

“Stay close to me,” he says as he grabs her by the arm. Kisara struggles to stand up, and luckily he’s around her height otherwise it’d be more difficult to move. 

The monster trails behind them, its massive tail churning up the sand; the noise is grating and terrifying all at once. Kisara tries not to look at it. She already knows it will visit her in her nightmares

She asks nothing, doesn’t even look at the man as they go into the village. She does chance a look when she hears no noise. It seems to be empty and Kisara thinks back to the prison she was in before with an almost longing feeling. She hadn’t known what had been happening there either but and she’d been trapped there as well, but that place had been stable and had felt alive at least. 

He takes her to one of the least diplated houses and shoves her inside. She stumbles but doesn’t fall. The bed is messy but it looks recently slept in. The rest of the home doesn’t look like it’s been touched in years.

“Can you cook?” he asks, blunt and coarse.

Kisara stares at him for a moment. “Some,” she says finally. She has been around coarse men all her life. But he seems odd though Kisara can’t put her finger on it. If she were Egyptian she would probably know from a glance. 

“You can start with that,” he says off handedly. He kicks his sandals off, throws himself on the bed, then pulls something out from his bag and starts chewing on it.

Kisara looks at the oven in the corner. It doesn’t look as if it has been used in nearly a decade. 

“Do you have dishes?” Kisara asks. 

He keeps on chewing. “I’ll get some.” 

“Do you have food?” she asks. She means for cooking but he opens his bag and tosses her a crumbling piece of bread. 

“I only had enough for one person tonight,” he says, taking out a smoked fish and eating it in front of her without offering her any. “Be thankful for that.” 

He does share his beer though, and Kisara sips through the straw, watching him as he watches her. He gets the most though, and the bit she had is barely enough to cover her thirst. But it’s better than nothing which is what she’s had most of her life. 

“What was that priest planning to do with you?” he asks once they were both done.

“I don’t know,” Kisara said. She looked down at her hands. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had some kind of plan for her. People never rescued her out of the goodness of their hearts. They always expected something in return. 

He snorted. “How have you lived this long? You’re stupid.” 

“I run,” Kisara says softly. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, long enough that Kisara thinks that he’s gotten bored of her. But instead he gives her a look that Kisara almost dares to call approving. 

“I guess that’s one way,” he says. “Seems like a coward’s way. But you don’t seem too brave. Or smart.” 

Kisara stares at him. He’s rude, but she knows how to deal with that. As long as she’s quiet and keeps her head down he won’t pay much attention to her. He wants a reaction but Kisara won’t be able to give him the one he wants. It isn’t in her nature to cry and scream.

“I’m going to sleep. I don’t think you’ll try to kill me in my sleep, but if you do get the idea, don’t bother. Oh, and you can’t leave this building or else you’ll die.” Then he turns over and seems to goes to sleep. 

He told her not to go outside but she’s not sure why. There’s no one around here to see them, Kisara is pretty sure. The whole place is too quiet. Before she can begin to panic about it he gets up and he groans as he shoves his feet into his sandals. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs to himself, and Kisara ignores it. He gets up and goes to the door. When Kisara doesn’t move he snaps at her. “Well? Let’s go.” 

Kisara follows but she’s not sure what to do, all the more that the village genuinely looks empty. She’s never seen a place so empty. She’s passed through old villages that had been abandoned decades ago but there is something different about this place. It looks still recent. 

If she believed as the Egyptians did she would think about ghosts and spirits. What is dead stays dead to Kisara because there is no afterlife for the likes of her. But something about this place makes her want to run right into the desert even if that means she is one step closer to death. 

“This is my home. This is Kul Elna,” the man says and his voice is proud and there is a note of grieving in his voice. It doesn’t make sense. 

“Kul Elna,” Kisara repeats, because he is watching her and waiting for her to say something. 

“The name doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” He asks though she is sure he knows the answer. 

Kisara shakes her head. Egyptian names all sound the same to her but even so, she can’t recall anything of a Kul Elna. The man has a strange look on his face as if he too is unsure of how to proceed. But after a moment it passes and he is proud and sad again. He turns them back to the house.

“You must stay in this house. You will die if you leave it,” the man repeats and Kisara doesn’t understand. But she nods and they go back inside. 

“You can sleep here,” he says, vaguely gesturing to the bed he’s on. Kisara barely keeps from wrinkling her nose at it. She’s slept on stone and mud but at the moment those uncomfortable places are preferable. The bed doesn’t look like it's ever been cleaned. 

And sleeping next to this man doesn’t seem safe. But she is his prisoner and she is here, so she crawls in beside him. He isn’t as comfortable as he makes himself out to be but he isn’t too nervous. Perhaps he hasn’t had anyone to sleep beside for a while. 

Kisara stares at the ceiling above her, noting the scorch marks on it and where it had been patched up. She’s seen the marks of fire far too often but rarely has she seen it patched up after. Usually a fire means it’s time to run and find somewhere new to live. 

The man quickly falls asleep, curled up on in himself, and Kisara chances a glance at him. HIs breathing is even, but she can’t see his face for its turned towards the wall. She looks back to the ceiling. 

Being stolen is not a new experience for Kisara but it’s been a long time since it has happened. It happened more when she was a girl. Kisara stares and waits for sleep to come to her. She is exhausted but her heart is terrified and it is keeping her up. Whatever this man wants with her Kisara doubts she can provide it. She has never been able to bring joy or assistance to those who would wish it of her. 

Though she is frightened the events of the day prove to be too much and she eventually drops. The bed is not comfortable but compared to the ground that she is used to it is bliss. 

Kisara wakes up before the man and she gets up off the bed, unsure of where to go relieve herself. He told her not to leave though she can’t understand why. She doesn’t worry about it though. He will order her and she will obey up until she physically cannot. And then it will be time to run. Perhaps he will chase her, perhaps he will not. It’s difficult to tell. Most people are happy to be rid of her and let her run. 

The man stirs and turns over, looking surprised to see her. He remembers after a few moments then lurches out of bed, gesturing to her to follow him. He takes her to the edge of the village, and Kisara wrinkles her nose at the smell, realizing that this is where he has relieved himself for quite a while. 

He doesn’t say anything until they are back in his home, sharing another drink, though he still takes more. It isn’t until he is done that he speaks. 

“You haven’t even asked for my name,” the man says, and Kisara has to bite something down.

“No, I haven’t,” she says calmly. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t stay anywhere long enough to make friends or even acquaintances. He isn’t the first man to have stolen her. And she doubts he will be the last. 

“Call me the King of Thieves,” he says and Kisara carefully does not look away. She also does not answer and as the silence stretches on, almost painfully so, the man scowls. “Well?” 

Kisara tilts her head slightly at him and then looks down, playing with the frayed hem of her dress. There is no polite way to say that he sounds like he is full of himself. And he did break her free of the palace prison though he’s only ensnared her in another trap. 

He scoffs then mumbles something to himself. Kisara doesn’t look up. She’s not so low that she’d stoop to calling him ‘king’ when he is no monarch. She is desperate and alone. But not yet that weak.

“Then what will you call me?” he asks. Kisara looks up. He seems to think himself very clever. And she is expected to answer so she lets her gaze wander over him. 

“Thief,” she settles on and the man roars with laughter. 

“How creative,” he says, wiping away a mock tear. “You were definitely kept for your wits.”

Kisara stares at him. She knows nothing else of him but that he has stolen her. And she will probably learn little else. 

“I am the Great Thief King Bakura,” he says, with a crooked grin, and Kisara wonders if he has stolen the name and title as well. “Now, what do you say to that?” 

“I’ve never heard of you,” Kisara says, watching him carefully. 

Bakura rolls his eyes. “That’s because you don’t pay attention. It doesn’t matter. I know my name is feared. It doesn’t matter if the likes of you hasn’t heard it.” He grins. “But one day soon even someone like you will know and fear my name.”

Kisara says nothing. His words and tone are insulting but she can’t bring herself to care. This man is strange, this village is even stranger, but she will not be here for long. She never stays in one place for too long and even if Bakura has stolen her, that doesn’t mean he will keep her. 

“I’m leaving. I’ll be back tonight and I expect food ready,” Bakura says as he stands up, stretching and looking down at Kisara who stares at him. 

“How?” she asks, instead of nodding. 

Bakura gives her an incredulous look and Kisara blinks. The oven needs to be completely cleaned out and she sees no provisions or supplies. She doesn’t explain though because she has already spoken enough. Anything more and Bakura would hit her for questioning him. He might already. 

Kisara watches him, waiting to see when he will strike, for he rode in on a great beast and stole her. Bakura is a man of violence and he will raise his hand to her one day, she is certain. Instead Bakura looks to the oven and scowls, but it’s directed more at himself.

“Fine. I expect this oven cleaned and ready to make food for tomorrow,” he says instead. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to get our dinner for the day.” 

Kisara’s stomach doesn’t grumble but that’s only because she’s so used to being hungry. 

Bakura takes a bag that had been lying on the floor, shaking the dust and dirt of from it. He slides it onto his back then pauses at the doorway. 

“Don’t leave this house,” he warns then takes off. 

Kisara watches him then turns back to the oven. It’s absolutely filthy, but she has nothing else to do, so she begins to take it apart to clean it. The smell is horrific, like a decade of scum and ash. But it keeps her hands and mind busy, enough that by the time Bakura comes it is late, her eyes, body, and head hurt but she has been busy enough that she didn’t have time to think about the pitiful life that she lives. 

Bakura raises an eyebrow at her, so minutely that Kisara almost misses it. But he says nothing, and other than that ignores the oven, instead opening his bag, which falls to the floor with a myriad of clanks and clatters. 

“You take the food out, and I’ll take the rest out,” Bakura orders her and Kisara goes over to see his bag overflowing with goods. 

Kisara recognizes most of it, and she quickly begins to separate the food from the utensils, for it is mostly utensils that Bakura has gotten. She glances at the oven, wondering what happened here that it has gone without use for so long. Bread is baked everyday in this country, both to eat and to make beer.

Bakura is not starved but he clearly has not cooked for himself anytime soon. But it will remain a mystery for Kisara will not ask, and Bakura probably won’t tell. He doesn’t seem like he particularly wants to talk to her, though Kisara wouldn’t blame him, for only a fool and idiot would steal her to be a conversational partner. 

A small sealed jar grabs her attention, for all the jars that Bakura takes are empty. Kisara holds the jar and opens it, finding it full of honey. She glances up at Bakura but he doesn’t notice her, muttering to himself as he tries to find a place to put the new cookware. She’s only tasted it a few times when she’d cleaned up after extravagant meals, and she quickly sticks her finger into the jar and scoops some out. 

The taste is more vibrant that she recalls and she freezes for a moment, lost in her enjoyment. It’s enough that Bakura notices but he only smirks. 

“A sweet tooth, hm?” 

Kisara swallows her mouthful and offers the jar to Bakura, but he shakes his head. 

“I prefer it on bread,” he says. “But you can eat it. I’ll just get more.” 

She takes another scoop, and looks at the jar. The color of the honey is different, darker, and she frowns at it. 

“It tastes different,” she says. 

“Maybe it’s wild honey,” Bakura offers up offhandedly now and Kisara nearly drops the jar. Wild honey is expensive and unless Bakura is hiding a pile of treasure he doesn’t seem to have wealth. 

Kisara watches as he bustles about, finding a place for everything. Her gaze drops down to the bag. It’s not a surprise that he’s a thief considering he stole her but it still comes as something of a shock to her. Perhaps she is stupid and simple in addition to being cursed. 

“This should be enough,” Bakura says, jarring her out of her thinking, setting everything down on the mat as he sorts his ill gotten goods out. He sits down before his mat, amusingly looking like one of the vendors he stole everything from.“You know how to make bread, right? And beer?” 

“Yes,” Kisara says as she sits across from him. She’s better at making beer than making bread but she can do both. She touches the mortars and utensils, the grindstones and bowls; it’s all the basics of a common kitchen yet he had to go out and get them. Kisara glances up at him in curiosity but he doesn’t catch her look. 

“I think I have everything,” Bakura mutters to himself then lifts his head to look up at her. “If there’s anything else, tell me, and I’ll get it.” 

Kisara nods and stares at the cookware; whatever Bakura is planning to do with her, she hasn’t a clue yet, but it seems as if he is planning on keeping her for a while. The future isn’t something that Kisara thinks about much other than if she will survive to the next day. 

“What? Are they not nice enough or something?” Bakura demands once he sees her pensive look. 

“I don’t know,” Kisara says honestly. She hasn’t cooked with them yet so she can’t tell for sure but even at a glance everything looks well made and expensive. A thief probably doesn’t want to waste effort on goods that aren’t worth stealing. 

Bakura grunts at her but says nothing more. He opens his last bag which has nothing but fresh food, and he gives her a whole loaf of bread. As she slowly chew it, watching him and waiting to see if he’ll take it back from her, he pulls a melon out and cracks it on his knee. He shoves a half at her and takes the larger one for himself. 

They share the cup of beer again and for a time they are silent save for their chewing. Kisara eats slow, watching Bakura devour his food. He eats strange, relaxed but sharp, and though his eyes aren’t on her she feels like he is watching her as well. 

Bakura finishes by the time she is only a third done and he lies down on the ground, one knee bent and his other leg bouncing on his raised knee. 

“You take too long to eat,” Bakura says and Kisara takes a bigger mouthful of her bread. He doesn’t give any hint of approval but he stops looking at her directly. 

By the time Kisara finishes eating, Bakura looks as though he is asleep. His eyes are closed and his breathing is regular. But when Kisara gets up his eyes snap open and he turns to her. 

“Too damned slow. You’d better cook faster than you eat.” 

“Thank you,” Kisara says instead, because food is food even if has been given to her by a coarse and rude thief. 

Bakura scoffs at her and sits up, leaving all of cooking supplies on the floor mat and climbing onto his bed. He throws himself down face first and wriggles out of his coat, letting it serve as his blanket. There’s a polished headrest sitting by the mattress, and Kisara wants to touch the wooden lions carved into it, but she leaves it alone.

Instead she stands up; she’s exhausted and comfortably full from her meal, but she doesn’t want to crawl onto the bed until Bakura is asleep. There’s movement outside, the shadows moving and Kisara’s blood freezes as she looks through the cracks in the wooden door. She recognizes the white scales of Bakura’s beast. 

Something about it is unnatural and familiar though how so Kisara hasn’t the faintest idea. She wraps her arms around herself and glances at Bakura. He isn’t asleep but he’s quickly getting there. 

He sits up and blinks at her. 

“You can’t leave,” he says. 

“I know,” she says. She tries to keep her gaze to his but there’s another movement and her eyes flicker to the door. 

“Diabound won’t hurt you unless I command him,” Bakura says, and Kisara now has a name to the nightmare. 

She retreats to the bed, sitting down, still keeping an eye on the door. 

“What is that thing?” Kisara asks. 

Bakura glances at her. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

Kisara looks away from Bakura and back to the beast. She is a prisoner and that beast is the guard assuring she doesn’t try to run. Whatever whim or plan Bakura has, he doesn’t seem to be letting her go anytime soon. Kisara watches the creature for a few more moments then goes to clean something, anything. 

As she works she can feel Bakura’s eyes on her, occasionally watching, and there’s a crawling sensation under her skin. Kisara meets his gaze once but he doesn’t look away when she catches him. He gives a faint grin, the ghost of an actual smile. The walls are closing in but for the first time Kisara can’t run.


	2. Chapter 2

When Bakura leaves Kul Elna he goes to thieve. He doesn’t tell Kisara anything about where he goes or when he is to return. All he does is order her to make something from his previous spoils and then trots off. 

 

The small house swelters when she cooks, and in this ridiculous heat, Kisara could bake right alongside the bread. But she cannot leave for she will die. Normally she has a good idea of how exactly she could die, but Bakura doesn’t explain himself, and Kisara won’t ask. He wouldn’t tell her the answer anyway. 

 

Despite all that, Kisara finds herself slipping into a comfortable routine. Every evening Bakura returns, his bag always full of goods, though sometimes he brings gold and precious objects instead of food. He’s protective of them, and Kisara isn’t allowed to touch.

 

Bakura can’t fathom that she doesn’t want to steal like he does and so suspects that she will try to grab the spoils at every opportunity. She suspects his fingers perpetually itch for it. But Kisara has never cared much for objects that were never in her reach.

 

“This tastes like shit,” Bakura says one morning as he finishes off the loaf of bread Kisara made. He doesn’t speak until after he’s devoured it, licked his fingers of all the flavor, and picked the crumbs up off himself and eaten those as well.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says as she takes another bite. It tastes bland, but it is not inedible and that is Kisara’s main goal when cooking. 

 

Bakura scoffs but he says nothing more and licks his fingers again. Bread making is for woman after all so perhaps he knows nothing of how it's done, so he cannot order her about in his usual manner. Kisara has only ever helped make bread though, she’s never done it entirely by herself, and she’d had to wrack her brain for an entire morning before she finally figured the oven out. 

 

As long as Bakura doesn’t mention the still healing burns on her hands and fingers, Kisara can live with being told her cooking is terrible. She touches the [copper] plates and scoops up the last of the [fish] from them. Bakura never compliments her cooking but he eats everything all the same. 

 

If he really hated her he would make her leave. 

 

There is a great deal she would like to ask but she gets the feeling that he either doesn't know or he’ll refuse to answer her. So she saves her breath and doesn’t speak of her own volition. She won’t be staying here for long. She never stays anywhere for long. 

 

He gets up and without a word, grabs his bag and leaves for the day. Kisara watches him and blinks a little to try to wake herself up without Bakura noticing; he’s leaving so he doesn’t notice for once. Sleeping has been difficult lately. Bakura moves an awful lot but she has dealt with that before. It is something else stirring in her bones, keeping her from reaching a deep sleep. 

 

He hasn’t noticed yet and she’d like to keep it that way, for she has no answers, only a tiredness that won’t seem to go away. Bakura will talk when he wishes and he picks the conversation; eventually he will notice and ask. 

 

Kisara cleans up their breakfast. It’s just as well that he leaves sooner rather than later though, for Kisara has to make the beer today and Bakura hovers dreadfully when he knows she’s making beer. He would surely notice her sluggish movements if he watched her.

 

She grinds the bread into chunks and sets it to ferment. The house is small and there isn’t that much to clean; this town is far from the Nile, something that Kisara finds alarming. Most towns in Egypt are close to the water. 

 

Bakura has to bring jugs so they can drink, cook, and occasionally clean. She supposes he’s afraid she’ll run away if he takes her to the river itself. It’s a valid concern for it is her nature to flee at the first chance. 

 

Kisara lies down to nap, something she has never done, but everything in her is exhausted in some strange new way. She has known many types of exhaustion, but this one is altogether new to her. She works very little and there’s no reason for her to be so tired. She wakes some time later and goes to make herself a quick lunch.

 

She’s straining the beer when Bakura comes in, foul mood radiating off him, with Diabound hovering outside. Kisara watches the ka beast for a moment before tearing her gaze away. She keeps her gaze down and helps Bakura sort out his wares, saying nothing when his bag is half as full as usual, and he’s come back while the sun is still up. 

 

He’s even come in time for her lunch, which is a small helping of lentils and bread, and she has not begun preparing dinner at all. 

 

“Your leg is bleeding,” she says softly and Bakura scowls. He shifts so that his red cloak hides his leg again, but she has seen it already. 

 

“If I thought it tasted any good I would have brought you the damn monkey to cook,” Bakura spits and Kisara says nothing more. She has to fight to keep a smile back, for though all Bakura speaks of being a King of Thieves, she supposes that even he can have a bad day and slip up. The monkeys that catch thieves in the market places are vicious though and she eyes the wound. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he says and stalks out of the house. Kisara would follow but that is the one thing that Bakura is insistent on, that she must never leave the house. When he returns later that night there’s a cloth wrapped around his leg though.

 

Kisara says nothing, for Bakura will speak when he wishes. He drops himself in front of the mat that Kisara has laid out for dinner and grabs at the just cooked tilapia fish first. 

 

“Fuck,” Bakura says as he takes the cup of just made beer Kisara hands him. “I’m going to destroy that market tomorrow. Damn them.” 

 

“Is it dead?” Kisara asks. 

 

“I smashed that stupid monkey’s head into the ground, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bakura snarls. Kisara feels a momentary pity for the beast. She has no doubt that Bakura would do such a thing, especially to defend what little honor he considers his. 

 

“I would think the matter would be settled then,” Kisara says. 

 

“You don’t know anything about revenge, do you?” Bakura says, giving her a disgusted look. “You just don’t care. You have no pride. you haven’t even tried to run away once from me. If I were you and someone held me prisoner, I would have broken out already and killed them.” 

 

Kisara believes it.  She turns her eyes downward to her food and eats silently. If he stole her for a conversationalist then he is to be disappointed for she’s found the best way to get through a man’s anger is to be silent, even if that anger isn’t directed at her. It could soon be. 

 

Bakura leaves again after dinner. Kisara watches as he walks out with confidence. The village seems empty and Kisara sees no reason why she can’t leave the house. She turns to the dishes she is wiping as best she can with so little water. If Bakura says to stay, she will, but she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t need to. But something in her years for the sky above her, not this small confined space. 

 

Kisara shakes her head at herself. Perhaps she is just confused for it’s rare she stays any place for long. And she has stayed for a while now beside Bakura. She has never had much use for dates and times, but she estimates it has been about two weeks. And that is two weeks too long for her.

 

It is her instinct, insisting she needs to run, and while Kisara won’t doubt that part of her, she isn’t sure what to do now. Bakura seems convinced that she cannot leave this house without being killed. It makes no sense but he’s repeated himself so often that Kisara thinks he might be serious. 

 

Kisara finishes cleaning up dinner and lies down, absently staring at the open window. Bakura never tells her anything, nor does she expect him to, but there’s no point in trying to sleep before he arrives. For a thief he’s too loud and he always wakes her up. 

 

She sighs and tosses about, running her fingers along the blankets. The night gets cool and that’s usually when she would travel in order to avoid the death heat of the day. But now there’s no need for that, since she has remained with Bakura. He got, or more probably stole, the new blanket a week ago and there is one for each for he is a thief even at night and would end up with the blanket all to himself. 

 

It can only be a good sign that he is taking her comfort into account but no one has ever done that for Kisara without expecting something in return. By now, she isn’t sure what he wants from her, though he seems intent on getting it. 

 

When Bakura returns he drops onto the bed, saying nothing to her, and falls asleep shortly after. As usual. Kisara watches him for a few moments but he has his face turned away from her, as if shielding himself from her even in his sleep. The back of his head isn’t interesting and she turns to the wall, curling up to sleep. 

 

He wakes up by some internal clock of his own, and Kisara wakes as well, since she can only go outside to relieve herself when Bakura takes her. 

 

She watches Bakura leave for the day and curls up to take a nap. She’s been sleeping fitfully lately. When she wakes she reluctantly gets up but sits on the bed the rest of the day till Bakura returns. 

 

He raises an eyebrow at the lack of dinner waiting but merely takes some beer and pours her a cup as well. 

 

The next day begins the same way. Bakura leaves and Kisara goes to take a nap. But when she sees the bed she wants to rip it apart. Kisara takes a step back, and another, then she turns to flee. She pushes the door open and breathes deeply. 

 

The air is dusty here but it is not the stale air she has been breathing for weeks. She inhales and a laugh bubbles up in her throat. There is no danger here. 

 

Something screams and Kisara is jolted out of her ecstasy. There is a gust of wind and she inhales sharply as something cuts her cheek. She raises a trembling hand and her fingertips come away wet with blood. 

 

Kisara runs but it doesn’t help. There are more and more cuts coming, some places being cut more than once, and she is bleeding. 

 

Kisara cries out but midway it turns into something louder. She turns her face to the sky and the world turns black and then for an instant, a brilliant white.

 

There is no peace and no rest when she faints. 

 

And there is no thought. 

 

There is nothingness. 

 

It is not bliss but it is not torture. 

 

It is returning that Kisara dreads.

 

Kisara wakes up in pain and there’s a hand on her chest, pushing her back down. Kisara cries out but it doesn’t move away until she stops moving. She looks at up Bakura who is watching her with a carefully blank expression.

 

“You left the house after I told you not to, didn’t you,” Bakura says. He is not asking a question. He doesn't need to. 

 

“I had to.” She cannot explain it herself but something in her had demanded she leave. But she has no other explanation. She looks down at herself to see that she is bandaged and lying on the bed inside Bakura’s home. “Thank you.”

 

“Your ka saved you,” Bakura says, lips curled. “Diabond kept it from razing my village further but I’ve only saved you, kept you fed and clothed; what does it matter that you repay me by destroying what’s left of Kul Elna?

 

“What ka?” Kisara asks. 

 

“Don’t play stupid,” Bakura snarls and he gets up, but then he stops when he sees that Kisara is still looking at him in confusion. “You don’t know?” 

 

Kisara shakes her head. Bakura sits back down, crossing his legs, and frowns at her in concentration. 

 

“I’ve never heard of something like this,” Bakura mutters to himself, though in the quiet Kisara can hear him perfectly. His next words are louder and clearer. “You know Diabound. He is my ka.” 

 

Kisara’s eyes look around though she knows the beast is nowhere in sight. It seems to come and go though what the trigger is Kisara has no idea. 

 

“You have one inside of you as well.” 

 

Kisara stares at him. She has no beast inside of her. 

 

“You don’t believe me,” he says slowly and Kisara shakes her head. Bakura gives her a crooked smile. “That doesn’t matter. It’s true. Why do you think I stole you?” 

 

“What?” Kisara asks softly. She doesn’t understand what he’s saying. 

 

Bakura sighs and scratches at his neck. He’s dirty and he reeks of sweat. And his red cloak is nowhere to be seen. He looks tired too and the whole picture is so out of place with what Kisara has known about him. For the first time Bakura looks human and vulnerable.

 

“Rest for now. I’ll deal with you later,” Bakura says, and Kisara would be frightened by the threat in his words but she’s tired and everything aches. It’s easy to fall back into the comfort of sleep.

 

#

 

For two days Kisara rests and the entire time she is uneasy for Bakura is caring for her. He does a poor job of it, for he doesn’t know much how to cook though he is competent at healing her wounds. Kisara thanks him all the same, for she would have thought that he would have simply killed her rather than go through the trouble. 

 

He ignores her when she says it though and only once in awhile will grunt at her for her thanks. 

 

On the third day he wakes her from her afternoon nap and beckons her to follow him. Kisara does so without saying a word, but she hesitates at the door. 

 

“You’ll be with me,” Bakura says and Kisara follows. 

 

There are no screams or howls this time but Kisara hears the echo of them all the same. Despite the heat of midday she shivers and Bakura glances at her but says nothing. It isn’t until they have left the village that Bakura speaks again.

 

“Kul Elna is haunted by the ghosts of its murdered people. You cannot set foot in Kul Elna because you are not one of them. The ghosts of this village will kill any outsider, even one that I have brought in and wish to keep alive,” Bakura says. 

 

Kisara looks at him then turns around to stare at the village in the distance. From here it looks almost normal, though even from afar it’s clear that it’s empty. No one is leaving or entering. Kisara could believe it was haunted from the beginning though she typically doesn’t fear ghosts. It’s the living that hurt her more often. 

 

“How did they die?” Kisara murmurs.

 

“Pharaoh killed them,” Bakura says and his tone is so clipped that Kisara clamps her lips together. She doesn’t want to hear this story. 

 

Bakura says nothing more and keeps on walking and Kisara lengthens her stride to keep up with him. He doesn’t stop as he maneuvers around boulders and rocks, and Kisara begins to struggle. She hasn’t done anything more strenuous than brew beer in the last three weeks. Her feet have grown soft from being inside for so long. 

 

“Why are we out here?” Kisara asked, uncertain. Where there was uncertainty there was dread, for though Bakura had saved her, there was no guarantee that he would keep her. And eventually he would find fault with her. She had apparently almost destroyed what was left of his village to the ground. He had more than ample reason to drive her off or try to kill her. 

 

Now that she knew of the white dragon she supposed that was why no one had succeeded in killing her yet. But Bakura too had a monster inside of him and he could control it. Kisara doubted that she could influence the beast inside of her. 

 

“Shut up,” Bakura says offhandedly. He’s busy looking around for something. 

 

It’s another two hours later before Bakura finally slows down to a stop. He nods in approval at some unseen matter and turns around to face Kisara. She tries to stand up straight but her feet ache and her legs hurt. It’s been weeks since she had to walk so far.

 

“Bring out the dragon, Kisara,” Bakura says. 

 

Kisara blinks, more surprised that he’s said her name than by his request. 

 

“What?” 

 

“The white dragon,” Bakura repeats. “I want to see it. Show it to me.” 

 

“I can’t. I don’t know anything about it.” Kisara looks down to avoid Bakura’s look. Her head hurts from the heat and sun but that will never suffice as an answer for Bakura. She knows nothing of the dragon except that it causes destruction. It would explain why ruin has always followed her. 

 

The dirt shifts as Bakura walks to her and he jerks her chin up so she can meet his eyes. His face is blank, but his fingers are digging into her skin.

 

“I will see the white dragon,” he says.

 

Diabound appears from nowhere and Kisara brings a hand up to press against her chest. The monster frightens her and she feels no shame in admitting it to herself. Her heart won’t calm down though for this time, the creature stares at her, when before it has always ignored her.

 

“You’ll show it to me or Diabound will kill you,” Bakura says and Kisara tears herself away from Bakura’s grasp.

 

“No, please, I’ll leave. I promise never to come back,” Kisara said, backing away. 

 

But Diabound lashes out and Kisara screamed as its claws rake across her chest. She presses her hands to the wounds, her hands sinking down and she knows she won’t be able to stop the bleeding with just her hands. 

 

“Bakura, please,” Kisara begs but Bakura’s grin only widens. 

 

“Has begging worked for you before?” It hasn’t but Kisara doesn’t answer except to take another staggering step back. “I thought not. Fight me back, Kisara, or you die. I’m not like that soft priest. You will obey me. Bring out your ka and fight for your life!” 

 

Diabound strikes out at her again, this time with his tail, and he sends her sprawling to the ground. He’s caused no bleeding this time but that doesn’t mean it was gentle. Kisara pushes herself up to see Bakura watching her. The dirt is hot and it sticks to her, little stones digging into her skin, her blood streaked across the ground now.

 

Again that odd sensation of black is coming over her but she fights it. She doesn’t want to see the white that will follow because she knows now that it means the dragon is coming. This time her mind keeps spinning, going all the lighter as her struggles come closer to futility. 

 

Last time she almost destroyed Bakura’s village. This time there is only Bakura and Diabound, but even so, Kisara doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She never has. Running away is better for everyone but Bakura won’t let her run. He will chase her down because he wants the white dragon. 

 

Kisara still turns to run because that is her way. Bakura is there, Diabound behind her, and he has a curved sword in his hands. There is madness and bloodlust in his eyes. If he didn’t want her ka he would have killed her already. 

 

“If you run away I will murder you and your corpse,” Bakura shouts and Kisara is sure that would be more of a threat if she were Egyptian.

 

“Bakura, no,” Kisara pleads but he raises the sword and Kisara tries to scramble away. 

 

There is blood running down her body and her legs scream out as she tries to run. Diabound is in front of her, baring his fangs and claws. There isn’t enough breath in her chest and the sun is boiling her head. Bakura swings his sword down. 

 

Kisara screams before the blade meets her flesh and she  _ moves _ . 

 

This time she can feel the dragon and as she falls from consciousness she only wishes the dragon would run instead of fight. 

 

It’s bliss to sink into a world with no pain though. 

 

But this time it is marred by her knowledge. The white dragon is free and attacking Bakura. 

 

As confusing and mystifying, and occasionally frightening he is, Bakura has kept her safe for weeks now. There are precious few people who have done that for her. 

 

So she fights to return to the waking world. 

 

She digs with her fingers, claws herself awake, and though it hurts when she opens her eyes, she sighs in relief when she sees Bakura standing over her. 

 

“You’re powerful,” Bakura says with a quiet awe in his voice. 

 

Kisara forces herself to sit up though every part of her body screams in pain and looks around, seeing the sand blown away and the hard rock crushed into powder. There are chunks of ground missing and parts of the landscape are smoking. Bakura has blood running down the side of his head, bright against the dirty white of his hair.

 

“I don’t want to be,” Kisara whispers, wincing as the words hurt to come out. Her throat aches, as if she has been screaming for hours; Kisara wouldn’t doubt if that were the case. 

 

Bakura raises an eyebrow at her and stands up, brushing the dirt off his knees. Both of his sandals are gone and his skirt is ragged as well. He isn’t wearing his red cloak and with a start Kisara realizes that it's been wrapped around her. She clutches it tighter, her own dress torn from where Diabound and Bakura attacked her.

 

“That’s too bad for you,” Bakura says as he bends down to lift her up. 

 

Kisara clings to him and presses her face into his chest. He smells of blood, sweat, and dust, but she doesn’t want to see. For once Bakura lets her hide but it isn’t something to be thankful about. He’s already seen what he’s wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1). I'm going to try for a monthly update. Hopefully I will see you all on the next 15th with an update.
> 
> 2). I'll be using more modern terms like "Egypt" and "Nile" for the sake of easy and recognizable words to make for a more simple reading. Also this is fanfic for fun and enough research has gone into this thing. 
> 
> 3). Comments are appreciated! Either way, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy x3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our rating has now been changed.

“Here,” Bakura says the next day when he returns from thieving and he shoves a bundle of cloth at her. 

Kisara fumbles to catch it, nearly dropping the drink of beer in her hands that she was getting ready to hand to Bakura. He takes the beer and goes over to where Kisara has a carp waiting, and he tears into it, inhaling the freshly cooked bread as well. 

His chewing fades away when Kisara lifts the cloth to see that it’s a fine dress, the linen crisp and white, with a pure red sash attached. The fabric is delicate in her hands, and Kisara wants to drop it, fearing she’ll dirty it. 

Bakura never tells her where he steals from, though Kisara is beginning to understand the difference between stealing from the living rich and the dead. 

“Did you cook this with onions in it again?” Bakura asks, breaking into her thoughts. 

“What?” 

“Onions. Did you use them for the carp?” 

Kisara looks at him then looks at the fish. 

“Yes?” 

He gives a grunt and Kisara turns back to the dress. He won’t ever say he’s pleased but he’s not always as complicated as he likes to think he is. 

“I ripped your other dress,” Bakura says before Kisara can lose herself in thought again. 

Kisara looks down at her chest and runs her fingers along the coarse seam for she has only one dress and she’d had to sew it up again for it to be decent. She hadn’t even thought much about it, to be honest. Her mind had been filled with everything else that had occurred a week ago.

Bakura had been kind, as much as he was capable of. He’d asked for almost nothing, accepting the little she’d been able to make, since Kisara had spent most of the first few days simply resting. He’d stolen beer and dinner, leaving food for her to eat that didn’t need much preparation for her lunches and breakfasts. 

Still. This is new.

“Thank you,” Kisara says, and she makes to fold the new dress to set it aside. Any gift from Bakura is a test or poison in disguise. And she is still exhausted. Bakura leaving to thieve has been a blessing for she could not have spent the entire day with him. 

Bakura puts the food in his hand down and swallows what is in his mouth so he can properly spit his next words at her. 

“I got it so you would wear it, not hoard it,” Bakura snaps. He glares daggers at her. “Put it on.” 

Kisara takes a moment. She is filthy, for Bakura doesn’t care so much about going to bathe, and the river is far. And the dress is so nice. But Bakura has ordered her so she takes off her dress and slips the new one on. It slides onto her without a problem, and Kisara ties the sash around her waist as she suspects it's meant to go. 

Bakura watches her then turns back to his fish. He says nothing but Kisara supposed that counts for approval since he didn’t mock her. Kisara looks down at herself and touches the ends of the dress. The fabric is smooth and it swings past her knees.

It burns at her for the first time to know where Bakura got this from. For she knows now that he could have taken it from a corpse, from a dead woman’s burial trove, or even from a weaver. He steals from the rich, the poor, the dead, and the living with little distinction though his favorites to steal from are the dead kings. 

Bakura picks his teeth clean with a small dagger and meets her look. 

“Tomorrow we will go back to the desert,” he says and Kisara’s heart drops. 

“Back?” She asks. All she can think of is the destroyed landscape of rock and sand, but Bakura doesn’t see it like that. He sees the destruction as a mark of what she’s capable of, of the white dragon’s power. 

“You don’t want to hurt anyone and no one will be there,” Bakura says though that can’t be the reason why Bakura has chosen the desert. He doesn’t care who he hurts. All he cares for is revenge. 

Kisara says nothing. She looks down at her new dress and she could have stayed like that for hours but then Bakura makes an odd noise and when Kisara lifts her head, he is grinning at her. 

“Why don’t you say anything? You don’t want to go. But you won’t say anything.” Bakura shakes his head and his grin twists minutely into a scowl. “Watching you pisses me off.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kisara says because she has nothing to say. 

“Pisses me off,” he repeats under his breath but they say nothing more. 

The next day Kisara takes off her nice dress and puts on her old one, turned away from Bakura so she doesn’t have to see his expression. She keeps her eyes on the ground as she follows him out the door and braces herself for the long walk. 

Around a half hour later, Bakura makes a noise, and Kisara looks up at him.

“Hey, Kisara?” Bakura asks, tilting his head back a little to look at her. “Do you think I won’t kill you?” 

“You would,” Kisara says with certainty in her heart.

“Good, then you’re not completely stupid.” 

Kisara doesn’t scream when Diabound appears and thrusts his claws at her, but that’s only because the sound is lodged in her throat. She dodges by a hair and this is Bakura’s kindness, that he’ll let her avoid a brutal mauling for a warm up to the rest of this madness. 

The fear is here, in the form of a great snake beast, and Kisara can feel the dragon clawing to get out. Or perhaps it is just her insides twisting. 

Bakura wants the dragon. Kisara does not. This is a truth of her world and if Bakura were to kill her or leave her here in the desert, never to return to Kul Elna with her, then that would be the new truth of the world. 

He should have killed her from the beginning, or let her rot in that prison, for now Kisara has somewhere and someone to lose. And the dragon wants to defend what it possess. 

Diabound’s claws rake across her stomach and the pain is so blindingly white that Kisara thinks for a moment that the dragon has escaped from her control. She crashes to the ground and she can’t turn her head away from the sun. Kisara stares at the burning light, already feeling herself slip away. 

“Fuck,” Bakura says and Diabound vanishes. “You stupid, fucking idiot. Why don’t you defend yourself?” 

Kisara whimpers in pain and Bakura rushes over to her, hands on her abdomen, pressing down on the wound. The feeling of him on and above her pushes the dragon back. Though Bakura wants the white dragon, Kisara is sure that he doesn’t intend for the dragon to kill him. 

“I’m sorry,” Kisara tries to say though it only comes out as a whisper. Bakura ignores it and heaved her onto his back, ignoring the way she cries out in pain. 

“Don’t die,” Bakura commands and he takes off at a run for Kul Elna. 

Kisara holds back her pained cries, though she can’t help a few when she hears the ghosts. They obey Bakura and don’t attack, but their presence is still enough to remind Kisara of their deep wish to kill her. 

Bakura enters the house, angling himself so he can fit through with Kisara still in his arms and so he can avoid bumping her into the walls. He pulls her dress off and with gentle hands, cleans and binds her wound. 

Bakura sighs in relief once he’s finished.

“It’s not that bad. Diabound isn’t stupid like you, so he didn’t claw you too deeply. You’ll be fine by tomorrow. If you train, you probably wouldn’t have even fallen from that.” 

Kisara watches him, saying nothing as he retrieves her new dress and helps her put it on. He’s looking over her, as if inspecting her. It doesn’t frighten her right now though. But though his touch is gentle as he covers her with her blanket, she can’t help herself from speaking.

“I don’t want to train,” Kisara mumbles into the blanket. She doesn’t want to fight but this is something that Bakura cannot understand for some reason. 

“You want to live, don’t you?” Bakura says. He’s angry but there seems to be a note of confusion in his voice as well. She doesn’t answer because the answer is obvious. “Then you have to fight.” 

Kisara glances at him then closes her eyes. She does not fight, she runs away, and that is always to be her life, especially now that she knows about the white dragon. Maybe she could fight, but the dragon does not fight, it obliterates. 

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Bakura says, and Kisara doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that he is staring at her, furious but trying to keep himself from shouting at her. She tends to close herself off when voices begin to rise and Bakura has noticed, though he doesn’t ask for an explanation. It wouldn’t take much to figure it out though. 

“You’re letting me,” Kisara says. She looks him in the eyes and Bakura seems surprised. He mulls over her words. 

“I don’t have the power to rip ka beasts out of people,” he says, though he seems rueful somehow. “And I have no way to contain them.” 

Kisara blinks at him. Any time he starts talking about ka she loses train of the conversation very easily. 

“I don’t-”

“If I had more Items, I could. I’m sure I could.” Bakura runs his fingernails over the gold pendant he wears. “Diabound is enough. He is strong, far stronger than their monsters. With him, with his rage and power, we will kill the guardians and pharaoh.” 

Kisara falls asleep to Bakura’s murmurings of revenge and his promises of bloodshed. 

#

“I want the duck tonight,” Bakura says as his parting. 

Kisara watches him leave. He never mentions what he does but when he returns with a large bag, she knows he has gone to rob a tomb. Many nights he only comes back with a few things, goods he had stolen from living nobles rather than dead ones. 

Still, it’s better that he go and steal than linger around here. He can’t hound her to ‘train’, as he so fondly puts it, since she’s recovering from Diabound’s mauling from yesterday. But Bakura does little around his home and he always devolves to insulting her and stalking off when she doesn’t respond to his snide remarks. 

Kisara settles in to tear apart her old dress to use for rags, since it’s been patched and sewn together too many times by now. She ought to ask Bakura to get her more clothes but she’s not sure whether it’s better to take from the living or the dead. And Bakura will never buy something when he can simply steal it. 

She’s stolen from corpses enough herself but she never did it with malicious glee like Bakura. If she were Egyptian, she would be beyond horrified; Kisara breaks off a thread with her teeth and wonders if her causality towards Bakura’s thieving and corpsing ways is a good thing in his eyes. Or maybe he would have preferred her to shriek and bemoan his cruel ways. 

It’s tiring to try to puzzle out a man like Bakura. But it keeps her mind occupied enough during the day when she’s bored. Kisara attends to dinner and sets everything out to wait for Bakura. She starts sooner than usual, still moving slow thanks to Diabound’s attack. 

It gets dark and Kisara glances outside; Bakura comes and goes as he pleases but he’s generally back inside before it has grown pitch black. She stares at her plate then reaches out to start eating, glancing at the door once more. Bakura isn’t back when she finishes her meal. 

He isn’t back when she burrows into her blanket. And she doesn’t hear him before she finally drifts off to sleep. She wakes up, alone. 

Kisara looks around for some hint of Bakura having come and gone while she slept but she finds nothing. She takes her least favorite pot and uses it to relieve herself, shoving it in the furthest corner she can find. 

Kisara doesn’t bother making breakfast. Instead she paces around the small home, glancing at the door and small opening that constitutes a window. 

Someday around noon, when the heat is at its most stifling, Kisara sits down and makes a light lunch. She takes stock of what food she has remaining, choosing only a cup of beer and piece of bread. Bakura thieves for food regularly since keeping food is difficult in this obscene heat and so they have little on hand. 

More importantly, she has half a barrel of beer left, but no water remaining since she used it all to make the beer. In this heat, the lack of water will kill her far sooner than the lack of food. She could survive maybe a week if she stretches the beer out. 

She glances outside again but she doesn’t look for anyone this time. If it comes down to the end, would she prefer starvation or a quicker death by ghosts? She’s felt the pangs of hunger, the gnawing sensation of having gone days without food, and in the past few weeks the feeling has become alien. She doesn’t want to remember it again. 

Kisara goes to sleep and wakes up alone again. She cannot live here forever. Her food is limited but certain death awaits her if she so much as takes a step outside of the house. She smiles humorlessly to herself. Starvation has been a threat for far too long but being torn apart by ghosts is not a death she has ever envisioned before she came to Kul Elna. 

She’s sitting in front of her dinner, watching the food, unsure if she should eat it now or try to save it for later. There’s a movement at the window and Kisara jumps up, her heart pounding when Bakura steps through the door. 

“Good, you have food ready,” Bakura says.

Kisara throws her arms around him and embraces him before she can get embarrassed. 

“What’s this for?” Bakura asks, shrugging her off after a moment. She might have surprised him but not so much that he could have avoided her. He’s amused but there’s something else there; she thinks he’s confused. 

“You were gone for days,” Kisara says. “I thought you had been killed.” 

Bakura laughs and it’s an ugly sound. It mocks her fear. 

“There were soldiers around,” he says, brazen and fearless. “I didn’t want to lead them back to Kul Elna. So I took a detour. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

Kisara still sighs in relief and curls up on the mattress, watching him eat her dinner. It’s not big enough and Bakura goes to dig out more food. He refills his beer cup as well.

“What happened?” Kisara asks when Bakura finishes up. 

“Soldiers were a little more capable this time around, that’s all,” Bakura says with a shrug. 

“Were you stealing?”

“Of course,” he says, almost offended that she has to ask. 

“From a tomb? Or a noble?” 

“You’re chatty tonight, aren’t you?” Bakura asks and waves her questions off. “It’s fine.”

But he keeps giving her strange looks all night up until he finally goes to sleep. Kisara doesn’t care. It’s lovely to have him back in their home.

#

Bakura still leaves the next day but he returns at night, half heartedly asking her if she thought he wasn’t going to be coming back. It’s easiest to ignore Bakura when he’s being an asshole but he doesn’t seem to notice that she brushes off his ill joke. 

Tonight Bakura beckons her over to open his bag with him. Kisara sits across from him, watching him the whole time, unsure of what to do. 

“I had to hide the bag so the soldiers wouldn’t catch me,” Bakura says as he digs through it. He holds up a clay jar, grinning at it, and pouring over the inscription. “It was weighing me down. I hid it well though so that no one would stumble across it.” 

“Oh,” Kisara says. She should probably say that it’s a thrilling tale but they would be empty words, and Bakura doesn't have much use for them. She takes out an amulet, cut into a kemetic shape, though she only knows a few of the more common pendants. 

“You can keep it,” Bakura says offhandedly and Kisara hurriedly sets it back. She doesn’t want an amulet. She doesn’t know enough of the symbols and she won’t take one without knowing what it means. And Bakura would probably lie to her about the meaning. He reaches into the bag and takes it, rolling his eyes at her. “What, the king’s jewelry isn’t fine enough for you?” 

“The king’s?” she repeats, looking up at him. 

“Tombs are littered with them,” Bakura says with a sharp grin. “I don’t pay attention to their names. All I care about is this, the gold they take to their graves. They’re going to be naked kings in the afterlife because of me, the King of Thieves. Even you can admit the greatness to that, eh?” 

Kisara stares at him and he shakes his head at her. She reaches back into the bag, taking out each item, inspecting it, and then carefully putting it aside. 

“Here,” Bakura says, handing her a small alabaster jar. 

“What’s this?” Kisara asks, uncapping the jar. A sweet smell fills the room and Kisara relaxes, inhaling deeply.

“Oil.” Bakura says and he peels his red cloak off. “My shoulders ache and you’ll use that to massage them. Do it well.” 

Kisara has seen Bakura naked before and though he only has his top off, it feels strangely vulnerable. He is inviting, commanding her to touch him, and Kisara is certain this a trap somehow. Bakura stretches out on the bed. 

Kisara dips her fingers into the oil and rubs her hands together slowly. Bakura makes a noise at her to hurry up and she finally presses her hands to his back, watching the oil slick Bakura’s skin. She begins to knead and rub at his skin, feeling his muscles relax as she applies pressure.

“This is expensive, isn’t it?” Kisara says, though she knows little about oils. She can tell that he went to rob a tomb. 

He chuckles, his whole body shifting as he laughs a dark laugh. “I stole it from a dead king. Why should he get it? He has no use for it any longer.” 

Kisara keeps on. She knows Egyptians believe they will live again in an afterlife but she doesn’t believe such a thing. She will die and she will finally rest. No one will be able to hurt her again. 

“It smells good,” Kisara just says and Bakura laughs again in approval at her lack of disapproval. 

He turns his head to look at her, his eyes hooded and languid, the movement slow and lazy. 

“I don’t think the priest I stole you from would have appreciated your lack of faith.” 

Kisara says nothing. She’s thankful to Priest Seto but if he expected her loyalty over saving her only once and preventing this kidnapping, then he’s a fool. She’s been betrayed enough that a single act can’t change much. 

Kisara falls into a comfortable rhythm, adding in more oil whenever she feels it’s necessary. For the first time Bakura seems normal to her, since he slowly relaxes the same and sheds the stresses that have accumulated in his body. 

“Your turn,” Bakura says and he sits up, patting the bed. 

Kisara stares at him. 

“Well? Hurry up. I’m not always this generous. You should take advantage of it,” Bakura says, not looking at her, dipping his hands into the oil. 

That’s true enough but Kisara still hesitates. Bakura is always up to something and she’s never sure what until he actually goes through with it. He’s always surprising her. 

She goes to lie down when Bakura scoffs at her. 

“Take your dress off. I’m not going to oil a dress. Idiot.” 

Kisara bites her lip but obeys, lying down on the bed, tense because this does not seem like Bakura. Maybe he thinks that kindness will be the way to coax her into letting the white dragon out. 

His fingers dig into her shoulder blades and Kisara bites back her gasps of pain. It hurts, but it also feels good at the same time, and she’s never felt something so contradictory. Bakura keeps on, moving lower, massaging her entire back. Bit by bit the aches go away and Kisara’s mind shuts down. Everything feels wonderful and while she’s still shocked at Bakura’s kind offer, at the moment she’s in too much bliss to worry.

His slick hands go under and grasp her breasts. Kisara gasps but she doesn’t stop him. He’s so gentle and his body is pressed over hers, comfortingly hard. Bakura huffs a laugh against her neck, and continues, though soon enough Kisara squirms and Bakura moves enough to let her turn over so she can lie down on her back. 

“You can touch me,” Bakura says into her neck before he starts to kiss her. 

Kisara moans at the sensation, the heat and wet making her press her legs together as the pleasure builds. It takes her a while to process his words and when she does, she begins to eagerly touch him back. His back is hard, but when she runs her hands over his side, she can feel his bones without too much effort. 

She’s about to say something when she feels his leg press between her thighs and Kisara cries out as he begins to press against her. Bakura laughs at her and takes his shenti off, showing off his erection. He spreads her legs and enters her, groaning as he begins to thrust. Kisara cries out again, as it’s disgustingly familiarly rough, but soon the pain subsides and it turns pleasureable once more. 

Their bodies are slick against one another and that rare, almost foreign pleasure surfaces. Kisara relaxes as the tension leaves her body, lost in a comfortable haze even as Bakura still thrusts into her. Then he too climaxes and spills himself inside of her. He pulls out, muttering to himself about something, which Kisara ignores.

Bakura allows her to curl up in his arms, and Kisara almost thanks him before keeping quiet. He would probably push her away if he said anything just now. Instead she leans into him and allows herself to slowly drift to sleep. 

She has flown in her dreams before and they are her favorite. The people of this land believe that dreams have significance but Kisara isn’t sure about that. It is simply a wonderful feeling, to be in the sky, far from people and harm.

The white dragon changes this and for the first time Kisara understands this dream. It is the dragon flying free such as it never has before. Kisara allows herself to be drawn along, and she doesn’t fear the dragon but pities it. Why the dragon is inside of her, she cannot say, but it has horrible luck for Kisara has no courage. Bakura, for all his faults, would be more suited for he has rage enough to suit a dragon. 

It is exhilarating to fly though. Her thrill increases when she realizes that this is truly what flying is like for the dragon has wings and has flown before. The wind snaps at her but as harsh as it is, the dragon’s scales are harder. Nothing hurts her, nothing can hurt her, and in this perfect world of a dream, Kisara could happily be a dragon. 

Reality is not so kind. When she sleeps the dragon is gentle but the rest of the time the dragon is vicious. 

Bakura is already awake when she opens her eyes and Kisara squirms under his look. It reminds her that bodies are still oil slick in places and they are sticky in other parts.

“I don’t understand how you can always run away,” Bakura murmurs. 

Bakura can’t read minds but the thought occurs to Kisara regardless. His arm is wrapped loosely around her so she can’t even move away. 

“I have to run,” Kisara says back. She clenches her blanket and remembers her dream. “I cannot fly.” 

“You can’t always fly,” Bakura corrects, thinking of the white dragon’s wings.

Kisara says nothing. The urge to shake her head at him is suffocated under the confusion and apprehension that Bakura’s quiet moments bring her. Though these times have become more frequent, they have not yet ceased to frighten Kisara.

“I wonder how your life would have gone if you had fought back,” Bakura says and Kisara can hear a laugh at the back of her mind. 

“What if you had run?” Kisara says softly, not snapping back, but for her it is tantamount. 

Bakura bares his teeth and sits up, dislodging her. Kisara bolts upright and she presses her back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. 

“Pharaoh killed everyone I had ever know. And you want that I should have run away and forgotten them all? Tell me how I could have done that when he parades their bodies and souls around like this?” He grabs the pendant around his neck, shoving it into her face. 

Kisara stares at the golden ring but nothing about what Bakura just said makes any sense to her. He wears gold, not bones. She vaguely knows about the Millennium Items, but the extent of her knowledge is that they are powerful and that Pharaoh and his guardians posses them, using their power to defend and make Egypt strong. 

“No one knows the truth but I was there and I saw what Pharaoh did,” Bakura snarls. “He murdered everyone in my village to create these so called blessed items. He boiled them alive, he butchered their spirits, all for the sake of power. And he is called a god for it.” 

“I will have revenge for Kul Elna, I will kill a god, and all of Egypt can join him when I rip them apart. The whole world can be eaten by darkness. This peace they’ve built was made from the lives and blood of my people, and you think I should have run away from everything?” 

Kiara looks at the pendant again and the way Bakura always keeps it close, holding it and stroking it, makes sense now. It is all he has, that and a shell of a home. He can’t forget and he can’t move past it, but Kisara can’t fault him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

Bakura freezes and stares at her with something akin to horror. But it’s not for Kisara knows what that looks like. Before Kisara can say anything more or move, he bolts out of the house, barely stopping to grab his clothes from the floor. 

Kisara doesn’t move for a while then gets up. She has breakfast to make and bedding to clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated. Thank you all for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Bakura returns the next morning, sporting a wild grin and covered in blood. Kisara doesn’t ask if it’s his or someone else’s, well aware of the answer. Instead she hands him a fresh set of clothes and takes his dirty ones away. 

 

“You should have heard them scream when I gutted them,” Bakura crows as he sits down, accepting the beer and bread Kisara hands him wordlessly. “

 

“What? You won’t express any disdain? I know you’re too soft. You think I should have spared them. They were guards doing their job, protecting a tomb from scum like me, and they weren’t any part of this, were they?” Bakura looks at her and he’s daring her to speak but Kisara just stares back. He knows her response so why bother playing this game? She’s never understood the thrill in this. She has no say in what Bakura does. This much has not changed. 

 

“Why do I keep you? You’re so spineless,” Bakura says and Kisara nearly wants to smile. She is amused, in some deep dark part of herself. It’s a bitter sort of amusement and it is nestled close to where she imagines the dragon to be. 

 

He thinks that she fears being thrown out of this cursed place. In some ways, she would fear it, if she didn’t think it to be a matter of fact, as deeply carved into stone as the pharaoh’s words. The day has simply come later than Kisara had expected. 

 

“You keep me for you wish for the white dragon,” Kisara says, sensing her silence is a mistake. 

 

It’s also a trap for once she speaks Bakura can goad more words out of her. Kisara is a poor conversationalist but the ghosts are far worse.

 

“Yes, a dragon that doesn’t come on call and brings nothing but destruction. You’re so worthless, aren’t you? Would you have preferred if i had left you with that priest? I’m sure he could have found a good use for you. You could have been his pet, wouldn’t that have been wonderful?” 

 

“The priest only saved me once,” Kisara says, because she has no attachment to the priest the way Bakura thinks she does. She can’t even remember what he looks like, though she’s sure if she saw him she’d recognize him. If the priest had come back and taken her from Bakura, she would probably be his by now, she has no qualms in admitting that. No one has ever come back for her, after all. 

 

But she lives in Bakura’s home, depilated as it is, and Bakura is the one who provides for all of her needs. Badly at times, yes, but she is still alive. 

 

“And you’d still run straight back to him,” Bakura sneered. 

 

Kisara meets his eyes. 

 

“I wouldn’t.” 

 

Bakura stops at that and furrows his brows. The answer isn’t at all what he expected. For once she has left him truly speechless and the air is awkward as Bakura avoids meeting her eyes. She isn't surprised when he leaves a few minutes later.

 

It’s a little odd that he doesn’t return for lunch, but Kisara just leaves his food out. When he isn’t back in time for dinner, she eats his lunch for dinner and slides into bed early. When Bakura sorts out what’s running through his mind he’ll return. 

 

But the house is empty and the ghosts are outside, their whispers reverberating through the walls and night air. Usually when Bakura is here, he’s enough of a presence to keep them away from her thoughts. But when he’s gone, they are here, waiting for her to step away from Bakura’s protection. 

 

She would slit her throat before she would let the ghosts have her. But then she would never do that to herself either. It’s a question she would like to pose to a scribe or priest, though she would never get close enough to one to ask such a thing. 

 

The door opens and Kisara gets up enough to make sure it’s Bakura. It couldn’t be anyone but him thanks to the ghosts. Even so, Kisara still checks. He still won’t meet her eyes and she turns back to bed.

 

Bakura lies down next to her but with his back to her. 

 

“I don’t understand you,” Bakura says in greeting. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“‘Oh’,” he repeats and shifts. “You don’t fight back and nothing I do seems to matter to you. Would you hate me if I left you to die in the desert? I don’t think you would. I can’t understand that. You’re stupid. But you talk back once in awhile and I know you’re not as dumb as you act. So why go through this whole charade?” 

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kisara says and part of her is cold, because she knows exactly what he means. If she expects the worst and never hopes for the best, she can’t be disappointed when the dragon fire returns to burn everything. She runs because it’s easier than staying.

 

But she has lived so long in this way that she doesn’t think she could change now, not even if it were to save her life. The question he poses is as obvious as it is shocking to her. 

 

Bakura turns and his hand lightly lands on her body, quickly finding her breast. Kisara closes her eyes, enjoying Bakura’s gentle touch. He’s not patient though and starts sliding her dress from her shoulders. 

 

“I don’t…” Kisara drifts off, unsure if she wants to ruin this. Bakura has been touchy about everything lately. And she likes the way he touches her. 

 

“Don’t?” Bakura asks and now she has to finish. 

 

“I don’t always know what you’re thinking,” Kisara whispers. 

 

Bakura gives a huff of laughter. 

 

“I don’t either. Is that better or worse?” 

 

Kisara inhales sharply to avoid from laughing as his hand trails over her stomach. She’s not surprised when Bakura’s fingers slide inside of her. He’s being sweet tonight, and if she had any capacity for hope, it would begin here. 

 

But neither of them have that luxury and this coupling of theirs is just a way to stave off their loneliness. 

 

Kisara falls asleep, sweaty but content, wrapped up against Bakura’s body. It’s almost not a surprise when she wakes up to Bakura’s teeth on her nipples, and she cries out as he bites down. 

 

“Morning,” he says with a sharp grin and then returns to groping and licking her breasts. 

 

Last night he was gentle but today he doesn’t seem to have the patience of last night. 

 

He doesn’t use his fingers on her, and instead he lines up his cock and pushes inside of her. It doesn’t hurt but it’s uncomfortable up until it isn’t. Kisara decides to move her hips rather than figure it out. It’s much more pleasant. 

 

“You’re getting better at this,” Bakura says before he pauses to kiss her. 

 

It’s easier to kiss back and she doesn’t really think Bakura cares what she says right now. He pulls away from her, grinning, and begins to thrust faster. His hands are all over her body, and when one of his hands goes to where his cock is, Kisara cries out. 

 

She wants to ask for something but she can’t find the words. It’s always like this with him now. She never knows what to say or do, and right now all she can do is keep rocking her hips against him. Kisara comes soon after but Bakura keeps on going, and to her surprise, her pleasure builds up again. 

 

“Bakura,” she moans, unsure of what she’s trying to ask for. 

 

Bakura either ignores or doesn’t hear her, but he starts going faster in search of his own climax. He’s going to leave bruises on her thighs but she just moves her hips as much as possible, panting for something more. 

 

Bakura grunts as he comes and Kisara almost whines up until she realizes that he hasn’t pulled out of her. Instead he’s still thrusting, watching her now that most of his pleasure has passed. He leans forward to kiss her, sloppy and harsh, and Kisara tries to move faster. 

 

It almost hurts when she comes again and she digs her fingers into Bakura’s back as she shakes from her second climax. Bakura kisses her again then flops over to his side of the bed. 

 

“I’m hungry now,” he says. 

 

Kisara doesn’t say anything. It’s better to enjoy the last vestiges of her fading pleasure. Bakura knows where they keep the food. To her surprise he starts touching her again, and Kisara wonders how long he has gone without a woman’s touch that he’s desperate enough to settle for the likes of her. 

 

It’s a new addition to their routine though Kisara is loathe to think about it that way since they have sex when Bakura likes. And he has no set time. Sometimes she wakes to him between her legs, fingers already inside of her. Other times he returns back from thieving and takes her on the ground before even drinking. 

 

Even so, this doesn’t mean Bakura will keep her. One day he will get bored of her. Bakura is different but not that much so. 

 

#

 

“This is pointless,” Bakura snarls at her the next day. 

 

Kisara is panting hard, blood running down from her right arm where Diabound had attacked her. She starts to inch away, ready to run again, but Bakura’s next words stop her. 

 

“All you do is run away,” he continues. “You never defend yourself. Do you think I won’t kill you?” 

 

“You would,” Kisara says, for she knows him. If Bakura will not get what he wants he will murder without a qualm. He has not killed her yet because his desire for the dragon is greater than his annoyance at her. 

 

He truly wants the dragon. 

 

Bakura makes a derisive noise but his stance relaxes. Kisara watches him, ready for another attack from Diabound.

 

“We’re done with this,” he says and begins walking back towards Kul Elna. 

 

Kisara waits for a moment, keeping her eye on Diabound, but the creature follows Bakura rather than trying to attack her. 

 

“Done?” she manages to say. 

 

Bakura doesn’t turn around to even look at her. 

 

“You will never fight back,” Bakura says in disgust. “You would let me kill you before you would raise a hand against me. The dragon would never have a chance to come out. You’re stupid.” 

 

Kisara stares at him with wide eyes. She doesn’t understand what he means. He wants the dragon, she knows this, but if he’s ceased trying to draw it out of her, then that means he has no more use for her. But he can’t have given up on the dragon. He can’t.

 

She stops in place and at first Bakura doesn’t realize that she’s left behind. When he notices, he scoffs at her and returns, taking her by the arm. His hand is firm but he doesn’t press hard enough to hurt or bruise. 

 

“You can’t go into Kul Elna without me, remember? Don’t linger behind me like an idiot,” he says and some of Kisara’s panic bleeds away. 

 

He hasn’t given up on the dragon yet. It’s enough that she can enter the house again and begin to set up dinner. But the temporary calm only lasts for as long as Bakura eats.

 

“How will you claim the dragon if you don’t-” Kisara stops because she doesn’t know what to say. He can’t goad it out of her, not with death or pain, and she suspects this is the only language that Bakura knows. 

 

Bakura shrugs and sips at his beer. 

 

“I’ll think of something,” Bakura says. His hands drops to the gold around his neck. “I have my ways. Don’t think you’re free of me yet. I will have the dragon.”

 

Kisara doesn’t say that it’s already his. She is here, she is his, and she can’t escape. But perhaps he does realize this for he doesn’t look concerned at all. 

 

“What do you do here all day? When I’m not here?” he asks later that night as he absently touches her. 

 

“You know,” she says because he has to. She is confined to this space and there isn’t much to do. He can see where she’s cleaned, or cooked, or sewn. Kisara can hide nothing here.

 

“Do you get bored here all day?” Bakura asks 

 

“Yes,” Kisara says and Bakura snorts. 

 

“No one you ran all the time. No one likes honesty,” he says. 

 

“No, you can tell when I lie,” Kisara says and Bakura draws his hands away from her. she looks over at him as he frowns in concentration. “You don’t like liars.” 

 

“See, I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just stupid,” Bakura says. Then he laughs a little, his shoulders shaking. “Lying is the least of my concerns. I don’t care about the truth or lies. I’m after something bigger.” 

 

Kisara doesn’t say anything, for she’s also gotten good at telling when Bakura lies. But perhaps it’s a lie even to himself and Kisara has never liked it when people have tried to correct what she lies to herself. 

 

“If you can’t take the dragon from me, will you send me away?” Kisara asks. 

 

Bakura laughs. 

 

“Why would I do that?” 

 

He continues to laugh and Kisara asks nothing more as he sits up and gestures to his crotch. She takes his cock into her mouth and stops thinking. Bakura clearly doesn’t know but he doesn’t wish to discard her just yet. And that is answer enough for now. 

 

#

 

Bakura stays in bed the next morning and glares at Kisara when she tries to wake him up. 

 

“I’m not going out today,” he mutters and turns on his side, shoving his head under the blanket.

 

“Are you ill?” she asks and Bakura snarls. She’d had a thought to feel his forehead for a fever but she decides she’d rather keep her hand than have it bitten off. 

 

Kisara decides instead to finish making beer. Bakura will get up when he’s hungry and he’s not good about staying away when he knows there’s fresh food and drink. Yesterday she mashed up the bread and mixed it with water. She pulls out the jug where it’s been fermenting and the sieve. Sure enough, Bakura turns over on his bed to watch as she strains the impurities and clumps out of the beer. 

 

Kisara sets it aside and begins to prepare the bread for the day. Bakura used to steal bread loaves for them but now he steals the actual grain instead. She supposes it’s easier for him and it gives her something to do. 

 

She’s grinding it, the sound of the stone mortar against the pedestal blocking out the sound of the door opening as Bakura gets up and leaves. It’s much harder to avoid the way Bakura bounds in with a bundle of wood. Kisara pauses and stares at him but he’s busy inspecting his goods so she turns back to grinding. 

 

He can’t bear being ignored though because a minute later he kneels down to get right in her face. Kisara pauses and looks up.

 

“I stole a bed,” Bakura says proudly. 

 

Kisara blinks and hasn’t a clue what to say. She looks at the mattress they have. 

 

“Oh do I really have to- Fine. I got us a bed,” Bakura says, looking irritated. 

 

“We have a bed,” Kisara says. 

 

“We have a mattress,” Bakura says with a scowl. “If Pharaoh gets a bed then so should I.” 

 

Kisara blinks at him again. Bakura glares at her then gets up, muttering under his breath. Kisara drowns out his mumbling by going back to grinding. Bakura enjoys eating so she’s not inclined to stop preparing their food. 

 

Despite her self, Kisara watches as he pieces it together. Once she finishes the bread, letting the loaves cool, she begins to clean everything as much as she can. There is no place in this infernal land that is not covered in sand but she has some memories of a time without it. 

 

Occasionally Bakura barks out for a hand and Kisara drops what she’s doing to help. But for the most part he wants none of her help. 

 

Kisara ends up taking a nap on the mattress still, to which Bakura glares at her, but he’s the one interrupting her routine. It’s too loud to properly nap though and she wakes soon after. She lies on the mattress for a while, watching as Bakura lines up all of the parts and attaches them to each other. 

 

He pulls out what looks like rope though it isn’t like any rope she’s seen before. He has the frame of the mattress set up, a long rectangular box, and he begins to wind the leather rope to make a sort of net. 

 

Kisara watches as he weaves the entire bottom. Together they set the new blankets on top and then Bakura stands back to admire the view.

 

“Done,” Bakura says, a little before dusk now. He’s wearing a proud smile and he looks down at his work. “I bet this bed rivals even Pharaoh’s.” 

 

Kisara doubts it but she can’t help a smile. She knows Bakura stole the bed, probably from a dead king, but everything in this house has been stolen. So instead she helps him fold over the blanket as Bakura bemoans forgetting the headrests. The bed is large enough for four people of their size and she stretches out, enjoying the extra space. 

 

She’s not surprised when Bakura starts sliding her dress from her. The bed needs to be inaugurated after all. 

 

His hands are gentle, tired from the day’s work. After a theft he is also tired but excited, for each excursion could be his last and while he fancies himself a king, there’s too much danger for him to ignore. It emboldens rather than frightens him though and that energy carries over to when he fucks her. 

 

But tonight he goes slow, gently teasing her breasts, cupping her bottom, running his hands up and down her body, and Kisara leans into each and every touch. This will not last and what she receives from Bakura will have to last her months and years. 

 

He murmurs something filthy in her ear but Kisara shivers when his breath hits her neck instead of listening. Bakura grasps his cock and arranges them so he can work himself inside of her. Kisara shifts around to accommodate him, and it doesn’t take long for Bakura to set a rhythm.

 

The headboard knocks against the wall and Kisara wishes it would be enough to drown out the ghosts. It’s enough to drive them from her mind for a while, and Bakura certainly doesn’t pay them any mind when he’s fucking her. 

 

He groans and Kisara watches him as he comes, the pleasure cresting over him and his expression blissful and peaceful for once. Even in sleep he is often frowning and uneasy. But for this moment he is content and in a strange way, she finds it beautiful to see. 

 

She would never mention such a thing to him. Kisara thinks they’re done but then he pulls himself out and away from her, and lowers his face to her cunt. She almost pushes him away but instead grips the sheets and squirms. It’s not until Bakura slides a finger inside that her awkwardness is replaced by pleasure.

 

His tongue is lapping at her folds, his fingers thrusting and twisting inside of her, and she chances a look down at him to see him completely absorbed. It’s enough to finish her off and she bites back a cry as she comes. 

 

“You never bleed, do you?” Bakura asks as he licks his fingers after having them inside of her.

 

Kisara blinks at him and ignores him, thinking he is making some kind of comment about her foreignness. The rumors that she can blind people by just looking at them or that she brings destruction by her mere presence are gossip and malicious lies. She is too busy coming down from her climax to really care though.

 

“You haven’t, have you?” 

 

“Oh,” Kisara says as she realizes what he is asking. She stretches a little. “I do. I’m usually too hungry for it though.” 

 

“But you’ve been well fed here, I’ve seen to it,” Bakura says. 

 

“I suppose that’s true,” Kisara says, though she doesn’t take him seriously. Her body is probably just preparing for starvation again, thinking it just around the corner as it usually is.

 

“We're going out tomorrow,” Bakura says after a moment. 

 

Kisara looks at him, unsure of what to say. She settles for nodding in acknowledgment. Bakura decides everything and she follows. So instead she curls up and drifts off to sleep. It really is a lovely bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Kisara wakes up to Bakura standing over her. 

“What happened to your head?” she asks, blinking rapidly as she tries to figure out where Bakura’s hair went. Usually it’s a wild mane about his face and she stares at his face for a while before she figures it out. His hair is braided and it’s all piled on top of his head. The effect is odd and Kisara stares, wondering where he learned it from.

“Put this on,” Bakura says instead as he thrusts something into her arms. 

Kisara sits up with a frown as she moves the hairy lump around, trying to figure out what it is, until Bakura scoffs at her and rights it. 

“Why should I wear a wig?” Kisara asks blankly. She’s cut her hair to ward off lice before but she’s always let it grow back. It is hers, and she will not be Egyptian enough to partake in such a silly affair as wigs when she can grow her own hair. 

“I’m wearing one too,” Bakura says as he pulls out a copper mirror and balances it against the wall. He sticks out as his tongue in concentration as he begins to shove it onto his head. Kisara understands the braids now. “You’ll stand out with white hair. Today we go quietly.” 

Kisara didn’t think Bakura knew how to be silent but if he’s a tomb robber, she supposes he must know some stealth. She watches him artfully comb out his new hair, suppressing a laugh as he adjusts himself till the wig suits his tastes. The front is coiled but the ends hang in curls and it’s these that Bakura focuses on, making certain all the bits of his natural hair are hidden.

She mimics Bakura, braiding her own hair and setting it across and on top of her head, though Bakura still has to help her with her wig. The black, straight hair hangs down and Bakura adjusts the wig until all of Kisara’s hair is hidden. He adds jewelry to her wig as well and Kisara feels like her head is about to tip over thanks to all of the extra weight. 

When his attention is elsewhere she takes the mirror, staring at her reflection. She could almost pass for a normal woman with her hair like this, though her appearance is still off. Her eyes are too light, her nose is wrong, her mouth is too thin, but as long as no one looks at her too carefully, she might not attract attention for once. 

She slips on her nicest dress, and the sandals she rarely wears since she never leaves the house. They are made of papyrus but she has never before had a pair that are so thin and delicate. Kisara admires them for a moment. Then she sits on the bed and watches as Bakura finishes getting ready. 

The change in his appearance is far more striking than her own. He has set his red cloak aside for today and is dressed in a white pleated skirt. He’s having trouble deciding on wearing a shirt or not but eventually sighs and slips it on. The linen is fine enough that it has a semi transparent effect so Kisara doesn’t quite see what all the fuss was about. 

Bakura sets a copper collar over his shirt, adjusting the weight in the back so it hangs just right. It’s large enough that it covers the Ring he never removes and as long as he doesn’t move too fast, it’ll be difficult to notice the way the collar doesn’t lie directly against his chest. Then he attends to his hair again, rearranging the curls and coils that were displaced.

“Stand up,” Bakura commands and Kisara obeys. He inspects her then grunts in disapproval. She’s not surprised. “You’re an adult. You’re supposed to know how to dress.” 

“I’ve never had enough clothes that I had choices,” Kisara says and Bakura rolls his eyes. 

“That’s not an excuse, idiot,” he says and Kisara can almost understand that logic. Bakura had nothing and he seems to know something of fashion. He leaves the house for a few minutes and then comes back with a handful of jewelry that he tosses at her. “Pick something quick. I want to leave before it gets any hotter.” 

Kisara picks out the first piece of blue she finds and sets the necklace on. Bakura finds a matching set of bangles and forces them on her wrists. He glances at the earrings and gives her ears a hard stare, which worries Kisara a little, but luckily they don’t have time for a quick piercing job.

Applying kohl and lip stains are a quick process. This, at least, she can do somewhat well and Bakura doesn’t get the chance to mock her. 

He eyes her again but says nothing more so she must finally pass. Bakura slides a large bag across his back and takes her hand as he leads them out. Kisara looks around nervously but the ghosts aren’t screaming. 

“They won’t bother you if you’re with me,” Bakura says without looking at her. 

“Oh.” 

“Is that all you can say?” Bakura asks, looking at her now with disgust. 

Kisara says nothing more. Bakura is attached to the ghosts and she can understand this for they are his family, but to Kisara they are just the lingering dead. 

It’s early enough that it’s still cool. For a moment, while they’re far away enough that Kul Elna can no longer be seen, Kisara enjoys herself. Bakura rarely takes her to the river to bathe, and now that they’ve ceased her ‘training’ she doesn’t leave the village much. Then she remembers she has no clue where they’re going. But Bakura won’t tell her unless he wants to no matter if she asks. 

When Kisara sees the town ahead of them she stops in place. It takes Bakura a few minutes to realize she’s stopped following him and he turns back around with a scowl and takes her by the arm. 

“Don’t do that again,” he says. 

“We’re going there?” Kisara asks. 

“Obviously.” 

“But why?” Kisara bites her lip. She hasn’t been around people in such a long time. And even before she would stay away and avoid others for there was often little help given to a cursed being like herself. 

“Don’t talk and no one will even notice you,” Bakura says. He rolls his eyes. “I thought you’d like getting out and about. What the fuck are you panicking for?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer which is just as well because Kisara has no words. She can’t explain herself and she’s surprised she would even need to. Bakura has also been denied this sort of average life but he sees no issue with striding right into a village of normal people and pretending to blend in. If the people here knew what he was, what she was, they would drive them out in a heartbeat. 

She latches onto Bakura’s arm as they step into the town. They don’t go towards the center of town and instead wind through homes and workshops. Kisara clings close to Bakura when children and livestock get too near and Bakura sighs once in awhile at her. 

Bakura slows down then stops, looking around, and Kisara sees the house he’s making his way towards. There’s a drawing of a fat woman with an hippopotamus head chiseled into the wall and Bakura nods at it in approval before entering. 

The house is smaller than theirs, enough that Kisara stands behind Bakura rather than at his side, and she doesn’t mind. Instead she watches from around his shoulders at the old woman who is sitting hunched on the floor, ripping herbs into a bowl.

Before the old woman can greet them Bakura speaks. 

“Can you tell when a woman is with child?” Bakura asks and Kisara’s eyes open wide. She turns her head slowly so she can stare at Bakura but he doesn’t pay attention to her. 

“I can,” she says, grinning. Her teeth are worn down and a few of them are missing. But her eyes are sharp and she focuses on Kisara, which makes her squirm under the look. “I can even tell you if it’ll be a boy or a girl.” 

“That can wait till later,” Bakura says. 

The old woman stands up and rolls her shoulders once before waving them to come further in. Bakura reaches around to push Kisara in front of him. 

“You don’t care about the sex. Then I wonder if you intend to keep it?” she asks as she takes Kisara’s arm and pulls her down a bit so she can feel her throat. Her fingers are steady as she kneads and prods and Kisara feels like choking but she focuses on breathing.

“That can also wait,” Bakura repeats. 

“Hm,” the old woman says then slides the straps of Kisara’s dress off and grabs her breasts. Kisara barely holds back a yelp and looks at Bakura with a silent plea but he just blinks at her. The old woman continues much as she did with Kisara’s throat, unfazed by Kisara’s reaction. Her fingers aren’t harsh nor do they dig in but they aren’t gentle either. 

She lets go of Kisara and pulls her face down to look at her eyes, feeling the skin under and around them. Kisara nearly gets poked in the eye and she’s not entirely sure it’s accidental. The old woman lets go of her and steps back, still inspecting her with sharp eyes. Kisara slides her dress straps back into place but it does little to thwart that intense stare.

“Come,” the old woman says and leads her outside to what appears to be a garden.

It reeks of urine and Kisara glances at Bakura but all he does is wrinkle his nose. There are other similar patches with little bits of scribbled papyrus paper attached to sticks. Some of the plots are starting to sprout. 

“Piss on this patch,” the old woman tells her and Kisara blinks at her. “I didn’t stutter. Now squat.” 

“Do as she says,” Bakura commands and Kisara’s cheeks burn as she obeys. To her relief he turns away from watching her to talk to the old woman.

“I want to buy your silence as well, old woman. You never saw us here,” he says as he pulls out a golden amulet from his bag.

“Silence is the most expensive thing there is,” the old woman says as she watches Kisara. Somehow Kisara cares less about her watching than Bakura watching. 

“I will double your price,” he says and pulls out a ring as well.

The old woman laughs as she takes the jewelry. She holds them up in the sun and smiles in approval. “You’ve come at a good time. Come back in a week. I will have an answer for you.” 

“Come on,” he says to Kisara as soon as she’s done cleaning herself up and he leads her out of the old woman's house.

“Do you really think I'm with child?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I don't know about these things.”

Kisara doesn’t say anything. She should probably have considered this outcome but it had never really mattered before when she’d been starving and unable to bleed regularly like a normal woman. She’d only been focused on trying to survive till the next day. Kisara looks at Bakura, who surprisingly seems to blend in well with the crowd. She knows he is wearing a wig but it looks much like other mens’ hair. 

She doesn’t know much of thieving either. She has always stuck out too much; too pale, hair too white, face too foreign. And as odd as Bakura is he seems to know how to hide himself in a way that Kisara can’t. Every time she tries to hide she just seems to stand out all the more. 

She wonders what the old woman saw. Did she see a thief and his prize? Or a husband and his mistress? Kisara thinks again to how casually Bakura had handed over payment. Bakura is a thief. She didn’t think he knew how to pay for something. 

Kisara wouldn’t have thought she was worth so much effort and expense. It would have been easier to let the ghosts have her or to leave her in the desert somewhere to die. Or he could have even slit her throat to make sure it was done properly. 

Bakura seems the type to like the finality of a corpse.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, smiling. Kisara knows that smile but here in public it seems softer somehow, as if he’s gently laughing with his wife. He’ll mock her for whatever she says though.

“You could leave me here,” Kisara says, looking around the town. She has trouble lying, and Bakura has an uncanny sense of knowing when she lies. 

Bakura does indeed laugh. But he looks more amused than anything else so Kisara considers it a victory that he isn’t laughing at her exactly. His glance darts about as if looking the town over anew with her words in mind.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Kisara says. She’s caused too much trouble but Bakura still keeps her by his side. 

“The priest would find you,” Bakura says. He leans over to murmur into her ear and wraps his arm around her waist, bringing her right up to him. “I don’t give back what I’ve stolen.” 

Kisara looks at the gold that she knows is still around Bakura’s neck. Even in disguise he would never abandon it. It never leaves him, not even when he fucks her. Bakura lies but she thinks he’s telling the truth this time. 

“When will we return?” Kisara asks, staring at the sky. 

The sun is straight overhead and the heat is horrendous at this hour. The wig makes her head sweat and she cannot understand a people who choose to do this to themselves. 

“Once night falls,” Bakura says. “Then no one will follow the crazy pair who walks into the desert.” 

Kisara nods once and before she can ask another question Bakura points to a street bustling with people despite the heat. 

“I don’t come here to steal. This is one place I purchase as well as sell. Do you know why?” Bakura waits for Kisara to shake her head. “Because I’m not stupid. I have the skills to steal everywhere but I refrain from certain towns. And that’s why pharaoh will never catch me, because I’m not just a simple thief, I’m the Thief King. Everyone thinks I’m a stupid thief but I’ll be the one laughing in the end.” 

“You mean you’ll be laughing over their corpses,” Kisara murmurs. 

“You know me so well,” Bakura says with a laugh as he grips her by the elbow and directs her towards the flow of people entering the marketplace. “That’s exactly what will happen.”

She’s been to bigger markets than this one but the weeks of solitude and only Bakura for company make the crowds seem massive. Bakura keeps a tight grip on her and that helps more than she’d like to admit. He doesn’t say anything up until he finds a woman and her daughters selling cloth and thread. 

“You get bored, right? Here, we’ll get you some to keep you entertained,” Bakura says and begins haggling with the women. Kisara stares because she can sew, and it does entertain her, but Bakura shouldn’t care. Kisara’s wishes don’t matter to him. 

But she can’t find the words and Bakura is in the middle of a fierce barter with the women over prices. For someone who mostly steals he’s well versed in this art and Kisara listens with interest at the exchange of wits. Then Bakura is handing her bundles of bright thread, small patches of fabric, and a much heavier roll of cloth slung across his back. 

“Come on, let’s see if someone has anything to eat,” Bakura says. He gestures to his back. “This is about all I’ll buy since we’ll have to carry it back and that’s a fair walk.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kisara says as she follows him. The cloth in her hands is soft, almost as soft as her dress, and she can tell it’s good material. Bakura steals the nicest of goods but he bought these. She watched as he traded away some of his precious funerary gold with a satisfied smile. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Bakura says with a sniff. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Ah, that place has food,” Bakura says and leads her towards a man yelling about his loaves of bread. 

They go in between two houses for the shade and to get out of the pathway. As they eat their bread, baked into triangles and sweetened with honey and figs, Bakura looks around. He inhales his food but Kisara eats it slow so she can savour it.

“It’d be so simple,” Bakura murmurs and Kisara looks down, expecting his fingers to be twitching. One hand is curled into a fist but his other hand is steady on her waist. “People are so complacent about their belongings. And a marketplace is always so busy and frantic. But you would slow me down.” 

Kisara nods in agreement. She has stolen herself on more than a few occasions by necessity but she’s been caught just as often as she’s succeeded. There is a moment to steal and Kisara has never had the eye for recognizing it. Her gaze is trained to find the moment to run. 

Despite his earlier statement Bakura leads them back into the marketplace, filling his bag up with herbs, spices, dried meats, and vegetables. Kisara only nods as he tells her how she will cook each ingredient, because the last time Bakura tried to cook, the roof had caught fire. He had replaced the thatched roof, complaining the whole time, but he hasn’t tried to touch the oven since. 

Kisara sighs in relief once the sun begins to drop and Bakura finishes haggling with the last merchant. She focuses on putting one foot before the other, half listening as Bakura talks about the good deals he made today. 

When they return to Kul Elna, Kisara keeping a tight grip on Bakura as the ghosts howl for a welcome, she has to fight not to rip everything off. Bakura lounges about in his finer clothes for a while as he separates all the food into different baskets and places them away from the floor.

“Did you like it there?” Bakura asks as he helps her take the wig off. 

“No,” Kisara says. “Too many people.” 

Bakura chuckles as he wipes the makeup off his face. 

“That’s a very small town. Maybe eighty or ninety families at most. Even that marketplace is minuscule compared to others I’ve been to.” 

Kisara shakes her head and climbs into bed, her legs tired from the long walk. Bakura joins her shortly. He takes her hand and kisses it, lingering a little to see what her reaction will be.

“I think we should go back. Maybe during a festival. I don’t care about their stupid gods but you’d probably like that sort of thing.” 

“Maybe,” Kisara says with a yawn because Bakura is offering a great deal but she’s so tired right now. Bakura lets her settle up against his side and his fingers trace soothing patterns on her arm.

It’s easier to go to sleep than to think about everything that has happened today. She can deal with the possibility of pregnant but this kind, more thoughtful Bakura is a frightening appearance that she needs her wits about her to handle. For if he’s decided to keep her then it’s good but if not then it means Kisara will die very soon. 

And for the first time Kisara doesn’t want to run.

#

Bakura doesn’t say anything during the next week. In fact, Kisara could almost think it was a daydream of hers because nothing changes; Bakura keeps fucking her and taking off to thieve as he pleases. But Kisara keeps careful track of the days for once. When he wakes up early and heads off without saying anything to her ten days later, she knows exactly where he’s going. 

She says nothing to him as he leaves, his outfit in his bag though he doesn’t put it on in front of her, and focuses on her sewing. The deep nighttime blue fabric still lies in the basket where Bakura placed it. It sits by her everytime she pulls out her sewing but she hasn’t been able to think of anything fine enough to make for it. 

It’s midday when she hears Bakura footsteps outside and he slams the door open, sending dust flying up everywhere. Bakura comes in and glares at her and with that Kisara knows the answer. She looks down because she doesn’t know how to react. It’s the wrong thing to do, of course. 

“You have fucked up everything,” Bakura snarls. “You damned whore. You fucking bastard. Worthless, useless, piece of shit of a-” 

“I’m surprised I can even bear a child,” Kisara says and she looks up to meet Bakura’s furious eyes. “And that we could- I thought we would be too cursed for such a thing.” 

His fury breaks for an instant and he howls in laughter. But it comes back the next moment. 

“We’re not that cursed,” Bakura says. “Pharaoh would like to believe I couldn’t have children but he’d be dead fucking wrong about that.” 

“Yes,” Kisara whispers. She doesn’t touch her belly for that would surely irritate Bakura. “Apparently he would be.”

“He should be dead already but you refuse to help and let me have the power of the white dragon. Pharaoh killed my people and you don’t care, you’re just as bad as everyone else. And worse for you thwart me with this bullshit. How will a baby let me complete my revenge?” He demands of her.

She shakes her head. “Babies and children aren’t for revenge. They’re for life.”

“What do you know about life?” Bakura asks with a sneer.

“Not much,” she admits. Kisara looks at the wall, not seeing the stone but the forsaken village right outside. “But I think I might know more about living than you.”

Bakura turns on his heel and leaves. Kisara expects nothing less. Once he’s gone she touches her belly, unable to believe she is with child. When she’d been younger she’d dreamed of having babies, of being a normal woman with a family, but that idea had slowly eroded away. Now it’s a truth before her and Kisara can’t comprehend it. 

Bakura is not a man fit to be father but then Kisara is probably not the most qualified of women to be a mother. The baby has been conceived in a place of death and Kisara hugs herself, for there’s no way such a child could be anything but cursed. 

She falls into her usual routine, cooking and cleaning, leaving food out for Bakura when he doesn’t return by nightfall. The ghosts outside are more restless than usual and she has to press her hands to her ears to block out the louder shrieks. 

When the door opens, quietly this time but deafening in the silence, Kisara looks up from where she is sewing. 

“Bakura-” Kisara doesn’t know what she was going to say so it’s just as well that Bakura pulls her to her feet and kisses her, holding her by her chin to keep her in place. He ignores that he sends her basket of thread spiraling to the ground.

“Don’t fucking talk,” he says when he breaks apart from her and he starts ripping off his clothes. 

Kisara takes off her dress. He’s rough as he kisses her again for so long that they both pant and gasp for air when he finally lets go of her. Kisara winces and cries out as he bites and scratches at her. There’s blood dripping from a spot on her neck and somewhere else on her chest. It makes parts of their skin stick together but Bakura ignores it all. 

He sits down on the bed, grabbing and taking her with him; she’s in his lap and he digs his fingers into her back as kisses her. She can’t keep up with him. Kisara can’t feel the way he does, she is out of practice if she ever knew the trick, and she’s clumsy when it comes to passion. All she can do is kiss back and try to hold on tight so she doesn’t fall.

Bakura gets up and hauls her to her knees, ordering her to suck his cock as he stretches out on the bed, and Kisara leans over him, unsurprised when Bakura’s hands go to the back of her head to force her to take him in deeper. Her hands tighten around him and he lets go so that she can breathe again. Before he can come though he pushes her away. 

Kisara falls back on the bed and he takes advantage to lie on top of her and slide his cock inside her cunt. He doesn’t have enough patience to line himself up and his first thrusts are awkward.

“I should have left you in that prison and let you become that priest’s playtoy,” Bakura says as he thrusts into her, quickly falling into a more familiar rhythm.

Kisara moans, letting him say whatever he liked. His hands are digging into her hips and she’ll bruise, she knows she will, but he’s hitting her hard and deep. And it’s wrong that she likes this when he’s so furious and rough but it feels good.

“I should have left you in the desert to die. I should have let the ghosts have you. I should have left you in that town.” His words die out as he comes, inside of her because it doesn’t matter anymore. 

Kisara holds back a sigh of relief that she didn’t come. It would have been too much for her and she’s not sure she would have been able to endure such a thing. Some of Bakura’s energy has been spent, and his breaths come out shaky but she thinks he needed it. Bakura’s rage has never been quiet.

“You should have,” Kisara agrees once Bakura finishes. He scowls but pulls out of her and falls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“I should toss you to the ghosts,” Bakura says again. 

Kisara is on the bed alone and she folds her hands over her belly. He’s been loud and furious since he came back from the medicine woman. It’s interesting to see Bakura frightened and so out of wits. She’s only half certain that he will throw her out and that terrifies her all the more than knowing he would for certain.

“Would they attack me? Knowing it is your child?” 

Bakura doesn’t answer. Kisara looks at him but he looks more contemplative than angry.

“They aren’t saying anything to me,” Bakura says finally. “They aren’t howling like normal. And I can’t understand them when they do finally scream. They’re confused.” 

“Oh.” Kisara says, unsure of what to say.

“They’re undecided. It might rest on me to make a decision,” he says and Kisara wonders now how often he consults with them. Did he ask them about her when he first brought her? Did he keep her only because his ghosts also saw the allure of the white dragon? Does she live not by Bakura’s will but by these ghosts’ desire? She buries the questions and asks another in its place.

“And me?” 

“And you what?” Bakura asks with a scowl.

Kisara gestures to her stomach, reminding him who will carry the baby and ultimately give birth to it. She’s not at all surprised that Bakura would forget that she has a choice to make here too. 

“What if I don’t want it?” Bakura asks softly. 

Kisara looks at him. For a moment she feels nothing then her heart plunges so quickly that she has her answer. Bakura may doubt but this child will be Kisara’s no matter what. 

“Then we’ll have to leave,” she answers. 

“If you leave I’ll hunt you down and slit your throat,” Bakura says. 

“I believe you,” Kisara says. 

Bakura snorts and presses his face into her neck. “You’d better.” 

Neither of them fall asleep for a while. They are silent, until Kisara finally falls asleep to Bakura playing with the ends of her hair, with his other hand joined with hers on her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“You need to tell me what to get if we’re going to keep this stupid thing,” Bakura says as he watches Kisara sew. 

This is the first he’s spoken of the child since they learned of it and by his tone, Kisara wishes he had waited a little longer to begin speaking of it. She is sitting comfortably on the bed, basket of thread between her legs, and Bakura was half dozing as he watched her. But apparently he was doing more than sleeping, he was thinking, and Kisara has found his thoughts to be more dangerous than any man she’s encountered. 

“What?” Kisara asks, and she doesn’t feel much in the possession of a child in her belly yet but she figures she might as well start trying. And Bakura cannot keep calling it names and insulting if they’re to raise the child.

Kisara pities the infant for she’s certain even crocodiles and hippos treat their offspring more kindly. They probably look forward to the birth more as well. Right now Kisara and Bakura lurch between elation and terror, though Bakura’s fear comes with a healthy dose of screaming and shouting. 

Sometimes she envies Bakura’s destructive rage for at least he seems to calm down after he’s gone out and broken something (or occasionally someone). But his blood splattered ways are not hers, however much he would enjoy that. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Bakura snaps. Kisara looks up from her cloth and blinks at him. “The fucking baby.” 

“Oh. I suppose nothing at the moment,” she says and Bakura almost catches fire in his anger. 

“That’s why I’m going to steal everything now so that I don’t have to steal a dozen donkeys to carry everything the night before,” Bakura yells as he stands up from the bed and Kisara blinks up at him again because now that she knows he won’t hurt her, his anger tends to be amusing. 

“Oh,” she says again, because he does have a fair point. And in a way it’s charming that he’s already thinking of the child’s comfort and needs. Meanwhile she’s still not entirely sure she is pregnant but at the rate they’ve been having sex, she figures it’ll have to happen at some point anyway. “More fabric then since it’ll need some clothes eventually. A large basket for it to rest while I cook. That sort of thing, right?” 

“Finally you can answer a fucking question properly,” Bakura says, his tone a little calmer. He settles himself on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve never had a child. I only know what I’ve seen,” Kisara says, turning back to her embroidery. She’s stitching the outline of a bright blue flower onto the white of a long dress, one that she doesn’t recall having seen lately, but if it’s a dream flower, let it be. The image is clear in her mind and nothing about it seems to be like the dresses of the ladies in town wear. This will be her own.

“How the fuck do you not know what a baby needs? Aren’t you supposed to know these sorts of things?” Bakura scowls at her and his fingers twitch a little, as if he wants to go for a knife and slice the answers out of her. 

She barely feels like a person most days, let alone has a normal person’s knowledge. Kisara can’t even dress like a normal woman according to him. She gives Bakura a look which must communicate this to him because he groans. 

“I’ve helped with births?” Kisara offers because she can do that much. It’s never been her favorite thing to do because it’s often an emergency and the baby has come earlier and Kisara is the only person around to help. Bakura would probably be surprised where women end up giving birth. It’s almost never where it should be. 

“Oh good. Then you can help with your own, right?” Bakura says and Kisara shrugs his sarcasm away. He’s the one who stole her. And more to the point he’s the one who started this whole sexual aspect to their relationship. He could still toss her out.

“Women have done it before,” Kisara says softly because they have. She does not mention how many of them end up dead after or that most need some kind of assistance soon after the birth. “When we get closer to the birth then I’ll worry. There’s too much that can happen before, after all.” 

“What does that mean?” Bakura asks with a wary glance. 

“It means exactly that. I’ve seen many women die with a baby half way grown,” Kisara says calmly. Bakura has seen worse but his face wrinkles in disgust at the mental image. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Bakura says. 

Kisara blinks and looks up at him. He’s staring at her, intent and steady, and she isn’t entirely certain what his expression means. Bakura must not know either because his gaze changes and evens out as he blocks out his emotions from showing. 

“I still need the white dragon’s power from you,” Bakura says and gets up to get a chunk of bread. He stays on the other side of the house, a few steps away, but enough that he can keep his face hidden from her as he eats. 

Kisara winces as her sewing needle stabs into her thumb. She barely keeps the blood from staining the white linen though the tiniest of red dots are visible against the blue thread. 

Bakura can keep repeating whichever words he feels comfort him best just as Kisara can keep ignoring anything that doesn’t make sense to her. But he’s been awfully horrible lately at keeping his meanings shrouded. Or perhaps she has grown in her understanding of him and that’s why he seems so transparent. 

The second is far more frightening and thrilling than the first. 

#

“Why are we here again?” Kisara asks once they are in the town properly, trying to keep from scratching at her wig. Running barefoot across the scorching desert sand is more tolerable than this. 

“Because the ghosts won’t shut up and I want some damn quiet,” Bakura says. He does not tell her to shut up but Kisara can read between the lines and falls silent. His fingers are jittery and his eyes keeps darting around. 

Kisara is certain he has already pilfered something but she pretends she knows nothing. If Bakura wants to go on a thieving spree with her in tow, that’s his prerogative, but she’s a dead weight even on a good day. She can still run for now though so perhaps he’s counting on that. 

“And don’t say ‘again’ when we’ve never been to this town,” Bakura says and Kisara shrugs. Towns are all the same to her; Kul Elna is the first place in a long time that she has bothered to remember the name. 

They are standing by a fan maker who had kept eyeing them with suspicion until Kisara had traded him a batch of green thread for a red fan inscribed with a good luck charm for an easy birth. Or so the man says but he’s stopped watching them and is busy courting other traders. 

She hadn’t missed how he had looked at her stomach. Her belly is finally starting to show though Bakura hasn’t taken notice yet. It won’t be long until it’s obvious to him. 

Kisara sighs and sits up against the wall of the fan maker’s house. She’s not entirely sure what’s going on and everytime she tries to look at Bakura to think, he snarls at her to mind her own business. Kisara doesn’t bother to point out that she’s generally tried to do that her whole life and look where it ended up for her anyway. 

Kisara plays with the single golden bangle on her wrist in between fanning herself; they dressed much more haphazardly this time than last. But then they haven’t interacted with anyone much this time so perhaps there’s no need to be done up so elaborately. Kisara is thankful but she’d be more content if she could rip the stupid wig off. 

“Stay here so I can look at that man’s shit,” Bakura says offhandedly to her. Kisara watches as he goes over to a man with baskets of sandals before looking away. Even if she watched she probably wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the moment Bakura steals anyway. 

She rather hopes he’ll get her a new pair; the ones she has on right now are not made to travel across long distances and she won’t be surprised if they break on the way back. But she doesn’t mention it right now because he’s in a mood. If stealing will help him get over it, Kisara has no problems with that, though she does take some issue with being dragged along. 

He’s not making her carry anything this time which Kisaran’t doesn’t mind though she’s nowhere near the stage of being useless. Bakura’s bag has grown heavier though he hasn’t properly traded for a single item. When he returns he’s still scowling though he’s stopped glaring at her so Kisara supposes it counts as a success. 

“We should go to the River soon,” Kisara says and Bakura raises his eyebrows at her. “We don’t go enough.” 

“It’s far and not worth the effort,” Bakura says. 

“We don’t have to go today,” Kisara says. 

Bakura grunts which means he’ll think about it. Then he holds out his hand and helps her up, walking away from the fan maker’s place to situate them by a basket weaver. Kisara pretends to look at the baskets, though she quickly becomes engrossed with them, for the weaver is talkative about his craft. 

She doesn’t miss how Bakura slinks away but she ignores it, ending up trading her bracelet for a few of the smaller baskets so she can organize her thread better. The baskets aren’t as nice as the ones Bakura steals from tombs but Kisara doesn’t need anything particularly fancy for herself. When Bakura comes back, his face is a little red and he’s slightly out of breath.

“We should go now,” Bakura says as he takes her by the arm and Kisara doesn’t ask what he stole. All she knows is that people are beginning to point and stare, which is more than enough reason for them to leave. The sun is high above them but Bakura lets go of her to pull out a cool jug of beer as soon as they have left the town. 

Kisara takes a long draught rather than point out the obvious. 

“It’s sweeter than ours,” she says, the taste lingering, because everything is beginning to sit different in her belly and mouth. Bakura takes a drink himself then shrugs. 

“It tastes fine. It’ll get us to Kul Elna.” 

Kisara doesn’t explain the nuance and instead takes the jug from him so she can continue to sip from it as they make the trek back. Beer is a staple but it wouldn’t hurt to experiment a little here and there with the flavor. Bakura will steal whatever she asks for though sometimes it takes more than a few attempts. Not that Bakura admits to any failure or caution; he likes to pretend that she is enamored with his Thief King spiel. 

It’s easier to let him think that than admit stealing lets them enjoy nicer food and that Bakura would never give up thieving for the likes of her. 

Kisara rips the wig off as soon as the town is a speck behind them and shoves it into Bakura’s bag. He snorts at her but otherwise doesn’t say anything. She takes her braids apart and sighs in relief once her hair is free. 

Men have tried to dress her as a proper Egyptian woman before but she does not suit their style. Everything about her is wrong because she is not of this land though Kisara can only recall her home in her dreams. But Bakura doesn’t care; this is a charade and a game to him, and he wears the outfits beside her. And when she disdains it he laughs alongside her because he is not Egyptian enough either. 

“Would you prefer to live somewhere like that?” Bakura asks midway through their walk back to Kul Elna. 

Kisara doesn’t answer straight away. She has lived in towns before but she doesn’t think Bakura is asking for her history. He has never cared before what’s happened in her past; the only thing he cares about yesterday is the tragedy of his people. It is his all encompassing present and future. 

She has lived with kind masters and monsters of men. She has been part of strangers who are simply looking to make it to tomorrow and masses of people living for the day. She has been solitary, one of few, and no one in a crowd of bodies. 

Towns and villages have never mattered because everything burns before the fire of the white dragon though back then she had only assumed it was terrible luck. Since she was stolen from her home she has never sought one out. 

Kul Elna is not home but it is a place where, despite the cries of ghosts who would kill her if she so much as stepped out of Bakura’s protection, she can sleep without fear. It is a place that has withstood the white dragon’s fire though it fell to pharaoh’s flames years ago. 

“I have someplace to live now,” Kisara says, giving him a wide eyed expression of perfect innocence. 

“Stupid. Do you even understand what I’m asking? You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bakura says with a scoff, turning his eyes away from her, and taking a few longer strides so he’s in front of her rather than by her side. He will come back to her side when they get closer to Kul Elna, she knows.

Kisara doesn’t smile on the off chance he can see it. 

#

Tonight the ghosts’ screams are different and Kisara looks up at Bakura from where she’s spread out her threads onto the bed. He returns her confused expression. Without a word he gets up from where he was reclining against the edge of the bed and leaves though this time Kisara knows exactly where he’s going. 

Kisara has watched him speak to the ghosts before. He doesn’t always use words. Sometimes he just stands outside, letting them fly and float around him. Occasionally he summons his ka beast and Diabound seemingly stands vigil with him. However Bakura communicates with them, it is beyond Kisara’s reach, and she is perfectly content like that. They are Bakura’s ghosts. 

Kisara stands on the bed, careful not to mess up the patterns she’s been laying out, so as to peer through the small opening towards the top of the walls. Bakura is speaking to them this time but his words are so soft there is no chance she could hear them even if she wanted to. Instead she sits down and lets him have his privacy; the ghosts are creatures to her but they are family to him and on some level she has to respect that. 

If her blood had stayed as ghosts she would have clung to them just as fiercely no matter how warped they had become. 

The sound lowers for a moment but it doesn’t stop, even as Bakura speaks to the ghosts. His steps grow louder but Kisara doesn’t move away. She pretends to sort her thread.

Bakura seems different when he returns. She always treads with caution around Bakura after he’s come back from speaking to the ghosts. But tonight she doesn’t feel that same dread, all the more that he comes in and touches her hand, as if about to grasp it, but pulling away when she twitches a little in surprise. 

His eyes glance around, too slow to be darting, but he can’t seem to focus on anything. 

“I’m tired,” Kisara says softly as she sets all of her thread into her basket and placing it beside their bed.

“Let’s go to sleep then,” Bakura says promptly and climbs into bed, stretching out his hand to Kisara’s so he can lead her. Kisara lets him arrange them, making sure to move slow so she doesn’t startle him. 

“They’re celebrating,” Bakura says after a few minutes of silence from him. He’s sitting against the wall on the bed and Kisara is in his lap so that he can rest his hands on her stomach. 

“I thought they were angry,” Kisara says. The ghosts are always dancing in rage and she supposes she would be too if she had been killed and melted into gold. Kisara has dreamed about their story of destruction but she never tells Bakura about the fragmented and horrifying images she conjures in her nightmares.

He’s told her the tale of Kul Elna’s destruction in bits and pieces save for that one night he spat out the horrible summary. But she never brings it up for it’s not her tragedy to suffer even though she lives in the ruins. Her nightmares can never compare to the actual images that Bakura saw that night though. 

“For once, no,” Bakura says with a smile. She can’t see it but she can feel it against her neck. “Their blood will live on and for that, they rejoice. They’re thinking of the future rather than their tragedy. If I’d known it would make them so happy I would have had a child sooner.” 

Kisara knows he’s lying but rather than say anything she closes her eyes and leans into Bakura more. She pities the ghosts, she truly does, but she knows she escaped with her life because of the white dragon and Bakura’s will. And though she has no proof she is certain that Bakura has led others here and let the ghosts rip them apart. 

They are not gentle creatures and she cannot fault them their malevolence. But they whisper in Bakura’s ear every moment they get and he can never be rid of their presence. He is theirs and they are his and the two will be intertwined forevermore. They will wail and shriek until he dies trying to avenge them. 

She can’t know how much this revenge is his and how much is theirs. But the more she sees of Bakura the more she wishes he had left this cursed place and lived for himself. She doesn’t go so far as to imagine him being an upstanding citizen but perhaps he wouldn’t be the Thief King. 

But wishes have never come true for Kisara and so instead she sits in his embrace and listens to his even breathing and steady heartbeat. They drown out the ghostly sounds outside and Kisara smiles to herself as she realizes Bakura has drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Kul Elna is deserted of people which makes it an ideal place to scream in pain. Kisara takes advantage of this wholeheartedly, especially since Bakura is not here. He’d said something about getting help but Kisara knows there is no one who will lend the likes of them a hand. 

But she doesn’t have the energy to puzzle out Bakura’s meaning. It’s about all she can manage to lie still and brace herself for the next wave of pain. The baby is on its way and she can already tell it will take a long time.

Kisara hears the yelling and struggles to prop herself up though she can’t see. The words grow more distinct as the sound draws closer but she doesn’t recognize the voice. 

“Good, the child hasn’t come yet,” Bakura says as he opens the door and looks at Kisara. He’s holding a woman by the arms, a blindfold around her eyes, and she’s quiet now, trying to look around. 

“Who-?” Kisara asks. She means to say more but another contraction chokes her words back. 

“A midwife,” Bakura says as he removes the blindfold from her. The woman blinks and looks around, scowling though once her eyes land on Kisara she grows thoughtful. 

“You stole her?” Kisara cries out because she cannot believe that Bakura would resort to thievery at a time like this. He is a mad man and she is a fool and everything hurts. 

“Kidnapped, more like it, but it seems like you have more sense than he does. Though you can’t have much if you’re with him,” the woman says. She accepts the bag Bakura hands her and begins pulling everything from linen to knives out. “Go get me water, you son of a bitch.” 

“Watch your tongue. You don’t fucking need it to help her,” Bakura snarls at her but he leaves all the same. 

The woman watches him leave then turns to Kisara. “He says I’ll die if I leave this house. Will I?” 

“Yes,” Kisara says. 

“Ah. Is that why you stay?” 

Kisara groans instead of answering and the woman apologizes. Everything blurs after that. She knows at one point she is dragged off the bed. In a way it’s a relief but in the end it’s just a different agony. 

Bakura is snapping something at her but his words are all mashed together. 

It’s easier when he holds her hand, and she focuses on that. 

She hears a scream and a cry and she cannot tell which is hers. 

And then there is a baby in her arms and Kisara sobs because she stopped wishing for a child years ago. Yet now she is a mother. 

Kisara clings to the infant and ignores Bakura’s panicked look at her wrecked face. This is her child and one of her wishes has come true at last. Everything that she has buried for years comes out and she can’t stop herself from crying even though she knows it’s worrying Bakura. 

“We’ll be right back,” Bakura murmurs as he takes the baby away and Kisara believes him because he’s a liar and a thief but she can see past his facades. 

“Alright,” she says. She holds Bakura’s gaze for a moment, not sure how to manifest the words to make understand Bakura that he needs to come back with her baby in perfect health when he grins.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises. 

Kisara nods and watches him hand the baby to the midwife, who starts talking about having to clean the child and to watch the head because babies are fragile. The baby will have to be fed soon but for now Kisara will rest. It takes her no time at all to fall into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

When she wakes up Bakura is lying beside their bed, the infant in its basket, and he’s rocking it slowly. He’s mouthing something but Kisara can’t hear him and he stops once he notices that she’s awake. 

“How is it?” Kisara asks. 

“He,” Bakura says, his voice bursting with pride. “I think he’ll be strong.” 

Kisara doesn’t have the energy to roll her eyes but she does have enough to smile at Bakura’s tone. 

“Give him to me so he can eat,” Kisara says and Bakura obeys, handling their child as if he were one of Pharaoh’s gold pieces. Kisara slips her dress down enough so the baby can latch to her breast. 

“What’s taking so long?” Bakura demands after a moment. 

“Stop,” Kisara says. “Some babies take longer than others to get a hold of feeding properly. He’ll learn.” 

Bakura watches, tapping his fingers on the bed, and once the baby takes a proper hold he sighs in relief. For a while they are quiet, the baby drinking the only sound in the entire village.

“Where is the woman?” Kisara asks, glancing around. There’s no sign that another person has been here so she probably didn’t stay for long. The only difference is a pair of bricks and Kisara recognizes them as the birth bricks women stand on. She doesn't remember doing it herself but they’ve been scrubbed of recent bodily fluids.

“I took her back,” Bakura says, staring at the baby. He meets her eyes for a moment. “She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Kisara doesn’t ask if he paid her. Bakura probably considered her life as payment. But mostly she is too exhausted to care. The baby finishes and she wipes away a bit of milk from his mouth. He’s a small bundle of potential and weaknesses. And he is hers. 

“I want him to be strong. I want him to survive,” Kisara says. 

“Shut up with your stupid thoughts,” Bakura says with a scowl. “He will. No child of mine would be weak. Don’t teach him to run from a fight and he’ll be fine.” 

Kisara smiles briefly as Bakura takes the baby from her so he can marvel at his greatness. She rearranges her dress and listens. Perhaps this won’t be quite the disaster she had feared.

#

A week later Bakura is twitchy and Kisara would ignore it but he’s stayed in the house the whole time and he will not leave for anything. He follows her like a hawk and incessantly asks after their child. 

Kisara is tempted to tell him to go steal something, anything, but she’s not entirely certain that’s the issue. She finally does suggest it but Bakura simply scowls at her and tells her to mind her own business. 

But he doesn’t leave. He stays and holds the baby, never speaking but rocking him the entire day. It’s a struggle when it’s time to feed the child because he doesn’t want to let him go. And as soon as Kisara is done Bakura snatches him away. 

Kisara lets him keep to his thoughts for if he won’t share them then there’s little she can do. Instead she tends to the house and even manages a nap since Bakura is watching the baby. When she wakes Bakura is much the same, still stuck in that morose spell. 

“They’re loud tonight,” Kisara says softly, glancing at the door. She doesn’t have to say it's the ghosts because Bakura makes a noise of agreement. 

He doesn’t offer up anything more than that so Kisara turns back to the bread she is chopping up for beer making. She’s dropping the crushed pieces into a clay plot of water when Bakura stands up. The quick motion draws her attention and she looks up at him.

“Stay here, got it?” Bakura says. 

Kisara blinks at him. Then she looks to the door for the ghosts have begun to scream instead of simply moan and chatter. Kisara stops what she’s doing and wipes her hand, reaching out for her baby. But Bakura’s grip tightens. 

“What is it?” Kisara asks, standing up, hands still outstretched. 

“If you leave you’ll die.” Bakura opens the door and walks out. 

Kisara can see the ghosts dancing about in the sky. Her blood chills as Bakura takes their baby out into that storm of death.

“Don’t!” Kisara cries out but Bakura pushes her back. Diabound manifests behind Bakura and bars the door, keeping her from going out despite the ghosts. Kisara doesn’t hit him though for the first time she wants to scratch, snarl, and fight back.

Bakura walks out and sets the baby on a stone he had placed, and then he turns to leave. Kisara stands at the door, not wanting to cross the threshold. She’d felt the ghosts rage once. It had been enough to let out the white dragon. She can’t risk it, for the ghosts might leave her child alone but the white dragon has no such mercy.

Bakura stands away, far enough that if the ghosts were to attack it he wouldn’t be able to get to it in time, not even with his ka. Kisara’s heart pounds, loud enough to drown out the first sounds of the ghosts howls. 

They begin to come down to the dirt, and they encircle the child. Bakura watches with a gleam in his eyes but he wears no smile. He’s listening to them, somehow understands them. 

The ghosts screech and the sound is destruction and desolation. Theirs are the voices of the undead. This is the sound that constantly rings in Bakura’s ears, the background to every night in Kul Elna, the noise that echoes in Kisara’s head all day. 

Kisara wishes the white dragon’s fire would be enough to send the ghosts to their second death. But they are impervious to flame now. 

Her own screams are drowned out and she clings to Diabound as she waits. The noises begins to die down and the ghosts begin to vanish. It isn’t until the every single one of them disappears that Bakura goes to their child.

Bakura picks up her baby now and walks back to Kisara. She grabs her baby as soon as Bakura is close enough and clutches him to her chest. The baby has stayed asleep this whole time; Kisara will never know how. 

“His name will be Nak,” Bakura says and Kisara can’t find that she cares as long as he’s alive. “Don’t call him anything else.” 

“I don’t believe in secret names,” Kisara tells him. A name is a name. She has no secrets to hide. 

“I do and I’m telling you, that will be the name we call him,” Bakura says. “The ghosts of Kul Elna have another name for him and you will never know it.” 

Kisara doesn’t care and she turns on her heel, retreating back into the home. Bakura follows. 

“The ghosts won’t bother you now either,” Bakura tells her and that makes her stop. 

“What?” she says in surprise. 

“You’re his mother,” Bakura says, carefully explaining. His eyes are wet though no tears have fallen yet. Kisara find it adds to her turmoil for he has never shown her such an expression before. “They will do you no harm. They can’t, not when you’ve given them such a gift.” 

“I haven’t given them anything,” Kisara says, the vehemence in her voice surprising her. “He is my son.”

Bakura shrugs. “He’s mine as well. And he was born here. He is just as much theirs as he is mine as he is yours. Your son is born cursed.” 

“He wouldn’t be mine if he wasn’t,” Kisara says, angry now that Bakura would imply anything otherwise. Everything that Kisara is and interacts with is cursed. She has long accepted that fact. It is not a rational anger, even she can tell, but it only grows at Bakura’s amusement. Kisara tries to calm her heart but now she has something to lose. She’s terrified, all the more that this fear is manifesting as a wildfire inside her heart.

“I like that look on you,” Bakura says and his voice is rough. He moves to kiss her but Kisara turns away. She can’t own her rage the way Bakura imbues it. 

“I can’t. The white dragon destroys everything. I can’t let that happen, not now,” Kisara says and Bakura laughs. 

“Diabound doesn’t destroy everything. You need to learn control, that’s all. You’re too afraid,” Bakura says and this time Kisara lets him kiss her. He’s gentle, mindful of the baby in her arms. “Stop being afraid.” 

“I don’t want to lose this though,” Kisara whispers and she grips their baby, Nak, tighter. 

Bakura lays a hand on Nak’s head, pressing his forehead against Kisara’s. His other hand snakes around Kisara’s waist and he pulls them close. 

“I lost one family. No matter what happens I won’t lose another. Now I have the power to protect what I deem worthy and the strength to destroy those who would harm me. Am I lying, Kisara?” 

His hands and body are comforting. Kisara shakes her head. Bakura is speaking his truth and his words are pleasing to hear. If they are a lie, this time it’s because the world makes him a liar, not because he choses to be one.

Bakura moves his hands to cup her face so she has to look him in the eye. 

“We’re not cursed anymore. From now on we will build our own lives and you will have no need to fear the white dragon. Keep denying it if you want to, I won’t stop you, but should the day come you want to learn to harness its power, I will be here to teach you.” 

“The dragon-” Kisara says, her gaze sliding away from his. 

“The dragon is yours, this child is yours, this land is yours, and you will protect it with your ka,” Bakura declares. He doesn’t look away from her and Kisara can’t help meeting his eyes again. “You can’t run away anymore.” 

“I-I can.” 

“You don’t need to,” Bakura says. “Why would you? I protect you. The ghosts will protect you both. And you have your ka. The days where you had to run are over.” 

Kisara doesn’t shake her head but she takes a step back from Bakura. 

“What did them ghosts do to our child?” Kisara asks softly. 

“They named him,” Bakura says. 

“That’s not all they did.” 

“They claimed him as their own. But he was always theirs. Nak was born in Kul Elna and he will be raised here. The ghosts simply needed to make certain that he would always be theirs.” Bakura speaks with nothing but pride, as if it is an honor to be recognized by the ghosts. 

Kisara rubs her thumb against Nak’s leg. He is awake now, staring at nothing in particular.

“I don’t understand,” she says. 

“You can’t,” Bakura says, but his voice is kind. “It’s good that you don’t. This is between the ghosts of Kul Elna and I. You have no place in it, exactly as you have wished.”

Kisara doesn’t speak for a while though Bakura stands by her side and waits. Her baby doesn’t appear to be harmed but she doesn’t know of such matters of ka and souls. Kisara glances outside then back at Bakura.

“Alright,” Kisara says at last and Bakura beams at her. 

“Nak will be strong. Now let’s eat.”

Kisara hands him Nak instead. He frowns in confusion at her and Kisara swallows her fear. Bakura lies to her and his words cannot be trusted but the ghosts don’t lie.

“I need to see,” she says and Bakura watches as she steps away from him and outside. 

She can’t help that she trembles though the night air isn’t so cool yet as to make her shiver. The ghosts are always here though not always so plainly visible. She takes a step, then another, then five, then twenty, until she is outside of Kul Elna. 

Kisara doesn’t laugh but tears escape her. It’s a sort of joy, something like a sadness too, and she doesn’t know what to think. This time she runs back, her footsteps loud in the emptiness of the ruined village. Bakura is standing at the doorway, leaning against it, amused. 

“Can we eat now?” he asks. 

“Whatever you like. I’m not hungry. Let’s eat out here. I don’t care,” Kisara says in a rush. 

This time Bakura chuckles and he hands her Nak so he can retrieve their food. He brings out dried dates as well so she can celebrate though for a while Kisara simply holds Nak and breathes in the night air. 

They eat under the stars and when they are done, Bakura lies down on the ground. He’s got a smile on his face that only grows whenever he meets her eyes. 

For the first time Kisara feels like she can say that she lives in Kul Elna. She doesn’t say this out loud but she’s certain Bakura can tell what she’s thinking. And he seems pleased with the world today.

#

“It has been too long since we’ve come here,” Kisara says in delight as she kicks her sandals off and runs to get her feet wet in the river. This is a joy she has always shared with the Egyptians. It burns at her sometimes that Bakura lives so far from the river. 

But Bakura won’t leave Kul Elna and he makes no complaints about having to retrieve water for them every couple of days. They both carry large jars to refill. The journey back will be hard work but for now, Kisara takes a chance to relax.

“Don’t get eaten,” Bakura warns her as he removes Nak from his sling. They brought him a basket and Bakura sets him inside. Nak protests but Bakura ignores him so that he can fill up their jars with water. 

Kisara takes a second glance around for she’s seen people get dragged away by crocodiles. There’s little anyone can do to help them. Bakura’s ka could probably take one on but she doesn’t imagine he’d like to expand that sort of energy when a bit of caution could avoid the problem. 

She strips and dives in, the water cool against the perpetual heat. Winter is drawing near but Kisara has lived here long enough that she knows it doesn't get that much colder in the daytime. Night and early morning is the only time it seems like it’s actually a different season. 

Kisara goes out further and floats on the water for a while. The world isn’t quiet here; she can hear the water rippling, birds crying out further down the river. 

Bakura is sitting next to Nak as he watches her. She paddles back to where she can stand up. 

“You really like it,” he says when she stares back at him. “The water, I mean. I always forget.” 

“Oh,” Kisara says. She doesn’t know quite how to respond to that. 

“Did you grow up near the river?” 

“Not this one,” she says because she is not Egyptian. But she remembers so little that it’s worthless to talk about it. She will never go back because there is no back for her. Kisara lives in Kul Elna now. “Are you going to get into the water?” 

Bakura studies her for a moment then nods. 

“Someone has to stay with Nak though.” 

“He’s in his basket. He doesn’t need someone by his side at every moment,” Kisara says, a little amused and unable to help showing it. Bakura scoffs at her but once he sees that she’s taking him into her arms, he removes his clothes and steps into the river. The Ring stays around his neck, glimmering in the sunlight, a constant reminder that Bakura refuses to shed. 

He always goes in quietly and Kisara can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t dive right in. Bakura sits down and cups water to wet his hair rather than getting his head under the water. She turns to Nak instead.

“Come on and let’s see how you like the river,” Kisara says as she holds Nak and puts his feet to the water. 

He’s grown quickly but the majority of his day is still spent sleeping, eating, and pooping. Bakura claims he is envious of Nak’s life though he’s stopped saying it out loud once Kisara pointed out that thieving wasn’t on that list. 

“Nak likes it, look,” Kisara says as Nak wildly kicks his feet. 

Nak grins at them and they both break out laughing as he does it again. The second time he does it hard enough that water flies into his face and he blinks at it in confusion. Nak’s expression sends Bakura into a fit of howls. 

“Dunk him all the way,” Bakura says once he catches his breath. 

“I don’t want to scare him,” Kisara says. She does lower Nak a little and he reaches out to try to grab the water. 

Kisara sits down and holds him, letting him kick and splash about until he gets tired of it. When he starts getting fussy she dries him off with her dress and sets him back into his basket. He screams for a few moments, the noise sending birds flying away with their own screeches, but he calms down soon enough. 

Kisara hurries back to the river once Nak is done shattering their eardrums and she dunks her head in the water, smoothing her hair back from her face. Bakura is watching her with an odd gleam in his eyes as she steps further into the water till it’s halfway to her chest. 

“I should bring you here with me more often,” Bakura says as he wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder and inching towards her neck. 

Kisara hums a little, glancing at Nak, who is busy gnawing on his hand. 

“We still have to walk back,” Kisara reminds him. 

“And?” 

“Oh,” Kisara says as his hands go up to cup her breasts. It shouldn’t be a surprise by now. 

Bakura murmurs something that sounds like an insult but Kisara ignores it so she can turn around and kiss him. He blinks a little at her in surprise though that doesn’t stop him from cupping her ass and getting a better grip on her. 

The buoyancy of the water lets him pick her up and Kisara’s toes curl in delight as she presses her whole self against him. 

“Do you really like that?” Bakura asks with a warm laugh. 

Kisara nods, liking how his laugh reverberates through her. Bakura carefully walks like that till they’re on more solid ground and sets her down. Her feet are still in the water and she eyes the ground, unsure that she wants to lie down on it. 

Bakura decides for her, gently pushing her to her hands and knees. He covers her with his body, reaching around to grope at her breasts again, licking and sucking at her neck. Kisara moans a little then stops to glance at Nak. He’s drooling all over his hand, his thumb in his mouth, but he’s sound asleep. 

Then Bakura’s cock is inside of her and Kisara cries out a little in surprise. It feels different, unsurprising since she’s had a child since the last time they had sex, though she can’t quite explain it. 

The water splashes as Bakura thrusts into her and Kisara finds she likes the sound. It’s hard to stay in place and it’s taking all of Bakura’s concentration to keep them relatively steady. There’s something enticing about commanding all of Bakura’s attention like this though and it’s enough to send a lovely chill through her. 

Bakura groans and his hips stutter, his fingers digging into her hips painfully hard for a moment. He pulls himself out of her and his come hits her back. Kisara shudders at the sensation; it brings an abrupt end to her pleasure. She flips over to lie down in the water to cool and clean her back off but Bakura goes to sit by the side of the river. They’re both panting but other than that it’s quiet. 

“We still have to carry everything back-” Kisara starts when Bakura groans and throws himself into the river. 

“You’d better get in here to wash because I’m not bringing you back here tomorrow,” Bakura says and Kisara hides a laugh. Instead she steps back into the water, taking a moment to check on Nak, who is still sleeping. 

Bakura flicks water at her and this time Kisara does laugh. She glances at Nak again then splashes at Bakura, trying to keep her voice down so she doesn’t wake Nak up. Bakura splutters a little when it gets into his face but he just shakes his head to get the worst of it out of his eyes. He tries to scowl at her but he doesn’t manage it. 

“Give me the damn soap,” he says with a grin. 

She goes to hand it to him but he shoots out his arm to grab her, and kiss her hard on the lips. Kisara stares at him when he breaks away. 

“What?” He asks as he lathers himself up. 

“Nothing,” she says with a smile and takes some of the soap so she can wash up as well. “We should come here more often.” 

“We should, we will,” Bakura promises. 

Once they wash up they sit beside Nak to dry off, and despite insisting that they need to return, Kisara ends up with her head on Bakura’s lap. HIs hand goes to her hair, running through it, gently detangling any snags he comes across. 

“If you go to sleep here, I’ll leave you,” Bakura says and Kisara just hums a little laugh. 

She knows he won’t do it. 

#

The nights are growing cold and Kisara takes an afternoon to pull out their blankets and shake the dust from them. She ties a rope between two homes, letting the blankets hang so she can beat them silly. Bakura hoots and cheers her on, more engrossed with Nak, who can now make faces when Bakura stares at him. 

They’ve laid out a blanket for Nak and he’s practicing sitting up while on his belly. He gets frustrated with it but Bakura laughs at him. Kisara doesn’t interfere because Nak will have to grow up with Bakura as his father. Nak might as well start learning how to deal with his disdainful nature now.

For a while Bakura is lying on the ground with Nak, his fingertips stroking the Millennium Ring where he’s laid it flat on the dirt. His gaze is on Nak but his eyes seem to look far past him. Bakura makes a noise to catch Kisara’s attention.

“Nak will have a ka,” Bakura says with delight and he brushes at Nak’s hair. 

Kisara stops humming and nearly drops the blanket she’s just beaten. 

“A ka?” She repeats. There is fear in her eyes that she cannot hide no matter how hard she tries; her own ka is a mystery to her and all she knows is that she is never awake if it is. Bakura tells her again and again that it is powerful but that only means destruction when she wakes up.

“Why shouldn’t he? Diabound is strong and even though you hate yours, it’s also strong. Nak’s will be fearsome.” Bakura laughs proudly. 

He’s too comfortable with this proclamation and the pleased look strikes suspicion in her. 

“Was this your plan?” Kisara asks and Bakura stares at her in confusion. “I couldn’t give you the white dragon so you instead hope I pass that power to my children.” 

“It wasn’t my first plan,” Bakura admits. He touches Nak’s face, tracing the contours with such a gentle touch, Kisara can almost forget that he uses those same hands to kill. “I wasn’t even sure if it would work. You should be glad he has a ka. If he didn’t I would take you both out to the desert so I could kill you and let the sand cover you.” 

“Liar,” Kisara says. 

Bakura laughs and picks up Nak. He murmurs something to the boy and laughs again. 

“With a ka Nak will be able to protect himself. And I will teach him to use it. He won’t have to run or hide like we did.” 

Kisara nearly says something but she stops herself before the words form because she turns over Bakura’s words in her head. He has always disdained and despised her for running away. 

Kisara looks over Bakura again, realizing for the first time how young Bakura must have been when his people were murdered. He couldn’t have stayed in Kul Elna, not when it was a smoking wreck filled with corpses and nightmares. 

Hiding must have saved his life and running had kept him alive but how worthless and weak he must have felt; no wonder he despised her. She who had all this power and refused to use it. 

Kisara carefully says none of this out loud nor lets it show on her face. 

“I suppose not,” she says quietly. 

Bakura throws her a sharp look that she senses more than sees because she carefully does not meet his eyes. Instead she resumes beating the blankets, watching the dust billow out from them. 

Kisara doesn’t care if Nak grows up to be strong or not. She’d rather he be happy and content with his life. But to Bakura the two must be one and the same for if he’d had strength he could have protected his home.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite Bakura’s insistence that he is all mystery Kisara has settled on his thieving pattern. He goes out two or three times a week to thieve for necessities like food. And roughly every two weeks he goes to steal from nobles or tombs. 

Though none of that explains when he comes back to Kul Elna with a man in tow. The man isn’t a prisoner for he walks unencumbered by Bakura’s side. And he walks close by him, his eyes darting around; it’s a familiar look though she’s never seen it on someone else. Bakura must have told him about the ghosts though that presents its own puzzlement. 

Kisara gets up from the wall she is sitting against. Their clothes are hanging up, drying in the midday heat, and she’d been feeding Nak before they moved to do another chore. 

“Who is he?” Kisara asks slowly. She doesn’t take Nak away from her breast. 

“A friend,” Bakura says and Kisara stares at him. He has no friends. Bakura scowls but even that is too great a lie for him. He looks away from Kisara. “I saved him. He’s a thief, like me.” 

“Oh,” Kisara says but that explains nothing. 

“He’ll have his own home,” Bakura says and Kisara relaxes at that. She doesn’t give her approval but Bakura has no use for it anyhow. 

The man is watching them carefully. At a glance he doesn’t seem special. If anything he seems ordinary, with his straight cropped wig and plain clothes. Even the amulets on his neck are dull, carved from common stones. 

Kisara doesn’t disguise her searching look. Bakura has said he will have his own home here which means he is to stay. And while Kisara can trust Bakura to protect Nak she cannot vouch for much else from him. 

“Make us dinner,” Bakura demands and Kisara blinks at him. She knows he’s showing off and she doesn’t mind much. But it doesn’t do to let Bakura get too full of himself and Kisara has a feeling that she should set a precedent in front of this stranger now rather than regret it later. 

“Nak is eating,” she says and Bakura pauses to consider that. 

“Well, once he’s done,” he says. Then he turns and gestures to the man to follow him. The man jumps when he thinks he’s being left behind and hurries after Bakura. 

Kisara watches them walk away then returns to her home to start cooking. Bakura doesn’t need to say that he wants something more than the usual bread and beer. She’s a fool but she isn’t entirely stupid. 

Kisara sits Nak in his basket though she knows in a few minutes he will climb out so he can get into everything. It’s enough time that she can cut apart the cod they’ll eat for dinner tonight without worrying that he’ll get a finger sliced off. 

Sure enough, he starts scooting around and finds his way to where she is preparing their food. Now that he’s slightly more mobile he ends up filthy by the end of the day. He no longer stays on any blanket they lay out for him and every night she has to wipe him down of the dust and dirt he accumulates. 

Kisara lets him, for the sooner he learns to walk, the less she’ll have to carry him. He’s getting to be heavy and while that’s a good thing, it does make it cumbersome to hold him. If they have to take him more often to the River to get a good, clean wash, Kisara isn’t complaining. 

She chops up the last of the cucumbers and the melons, adding in a bowl of grapes. Bakura comes in just as she pulls out the wine.

“Is this what we’re eating? Good, bring it. This house is too small for company,” Bakura says as he grabs the plate of still steaming cod and the jug of wine. 

Kisara holds Nak in one arm and uses the other to take the bowls of fruits and vegetables. Then she hurries after Bakura for she will walk freely in the day but at night she either sticks close to Bakura or stays home. The ghosts are loud at night and though she knows they won’t harm her or Nak, she still doesn’t like to be in their presence. 

Bakura leads her to a house without a roof. There are many homes like this in Kul Elna. But this place is big enough to comfortably sit the three of them. Kisara looks around then at Bakura for a moment; she knows every place here has a history and a people behind them but Bakura never speaks about individuals that were killed here. 

He’s in good spirits tonight though so Kisara pushes the thought away and begins setting up the food. The stranger watches them both, more curious than afraid now. 

“You don't have to fear the food. She knows how to cook,” Bakura says as he starts grabbing food to pile onto his plate. “Eat and tell us your story.”

The man first takes the opportunity to fill up his plate as well and takes a long drink of wine before beginning to speak.

“My name is Wenire,” the man says. He is hunched over his food, eating slow. “I served a nobleman and I was stealing papyrus from him. He had rolls and rolls of it, and he’s fat while I’m starving.” 

“Eat up!” Bakura commands. “I’ll show you the proper way to steal without getting caught. You were too slow. A thief is always quick and certain.”

“You do eat well for a thief,” Wenire says and he glances at Kisara who can’t help her stare. “Are you his wife?” 

“No,” Kisara says just as Bakura say, “yes.” They both stare at each other in surprise but Bakura recovers quicker. “She’s mine. And this is my boy, Nak.” 

Wenire’s eyes widen a little but he just nods and says nothing. He’s not stupid which is probably why he’s still alive. Though he was foolish enough to get caught stealing. 

“I’ve never seen a thief prosper as much as you,” Wenire says. He takes another drink of wine, licking his lips. “A wife and child, food of the nobles, and freedom; it would be enough to turn anyone away from the righteous path.” 

Bakura laughs at that, sharp and mocking. Kisara sips her wine and settles back to listen to Bakura great argument about what makes a man evil or good. It would mean more if he believed it but in the end, Bakura likes to thieve and he despises Pharaoh. That’s what it all comes down to. 

But the words are more convincing to Wenire. His eyes are lit up and he’s stopped eating so he can pay attention to Bakura. Kisara takes advantage of this to eat the last of the melon. Bakura catches her and grins; he begins to wind down as he sees that Nak is sound asleep.

“Come on, we’ll pick out a house for you,” Bakura says to Wenire as he gets up and stretches. 

Wenire nods and hesitates, glancing at Kisara, unsure of if he should take her leave or not. Kisara keeps her smile to herself; she is no one and the thought that she could be is hilarious. 

Nak fell asleep in her lap a while ago, and she hurries back so she can place him in his basket. Another quick run to grab the plates and cups and then she’s safely back in her house. The ghosts’ howls are different tonight and it’s not hard to figure out the reason why. 

Kisara wipes down the dishes and sets the aside, then pulls Nak from his basket and curls around him on their bed. Bakura comes in a while later, when she’s comfortably on her way to sleep. 

“Couldn’t even wait for me,” Bakura says with a click of his tongue and Kisara shrugs. 

“I didn’t know what you were doing with that man,” she murmurs. 

“Well? Ask me why he’s here?” Bakura demands. 

That wakes her up and Kisara strokes Nak’s hair for a few minutes as Bakura glares at her, all the more angry that she makes him wait. But by now he knows that she is the more patient of the two. 

“Will you tell me if I ask?”

“Stupid,” Bakura says. 

Kisara turns away from him and Bakura fumes for a while. The house is too small for him to properly contain his anger and he bursts out.

“I will rebuild Kul Elna. We will attack the pharaoh once we have grown strong enough,” Bakura says. 

Kisara stares at him. She knows of his plot for revenge but it’s never been her fight. He’s told her many times of the night that Pharaoh annihilated his village, of the Millennium Items, of the pact he had made with the Dark One. 

She has always known. Bakura stole her only to keep her from being on pharaoh’s side, to weaken them further. He says she is powerful but she doesn’t care. She wants a home, and though they’ve been playing at one, it was enough to wipe Bakura’s revenge out of her memory. 

“So he won’t be the last,” she finally says. 

“No,” Bakura says. His eyes are alight. “I will find thieves and those with ka. I can train them, teach the thieves to be the best. I can teach those with ka to fight.” 

Kisara can believe it of him. Bakura would do anything for his revenge, even deal with other people. She nods and curls back up with Nak, and Bakura sighs at her. 

“You’ve seen the ghosts, you live in my ruined village, and still you do not understand.” 

“I don’t think I can,” Kisara says and Bakura sighs again. 

“Sometimes I think that no one will,” Bakura says quietly. “But someday soon everyone will know the truth of Kul Elna, and Pharaoh will die for what he did.” 

“I can understand that,” Kisara says and she pats the bed. 

Bakura slides off his red robe and lays down, Nak in the middle of them. He watches Nak sleep for a few minutes, slowly smiling as he watches his boy. 

“Nak will understand. He has to since it’s his legacy,” Bakura murmurs and Kisara ignores that. 

She takes Bakura’s hand, rubbing her thumb over it, pleased when he reciprocates. It doesn’t take long for Kisara to go to sleep like that. 

#

The next day Bakura is talking to Wenire, gesturing animatedly with his hands. They aren’t in the village proper and Kisara wonders what it will take for Wenire to be left alone by the ghosts. They tend to linger nowadays around Nak instead of Bakura. Kisara supposed they are enamored by the boy; he has been born in a place of death and he is the promise of a continued legacy. 

Kisara lets them be and turns to baking bread for the day. Nak nearly burns his hands and head when he tries to climb into the clay oven but luckily it wasn’t hot enough to really scald him. She does have to soothe him when he screams in fright though. 

“No one told you to climb in there,” Kisara tells him as his cries dwindle to sniffles. He turns his big dark eyes at her but she doesn’t let it worry her. Bakura would baby him, for all that he talks about death and war, he spoils Nak dreadfully. 

It isn’t until the sun is nearly set that Bakura comes into the house. 

“Do you want to eat with our guest tonight?” Bakura asks and Kisara doesn't hide her surprise that he would care if she wanted to or not. 

“No,” Kisara says. She doesn’t know this man and he’s ruining the tranquility of their little home. And she knows now that he won’t be the last. So she wants to enjoy the quiet while she can. 

Bakura laughs at her blatant refusal but doesn’t question her more. He pats Nak on the head then takes some bread and beer to Wenire, coming back to eat with them. But he leaves right after dinner. 

Kisara doesn’t doubt where he is and instead of thinking about it, she feeds Nak and sets him in his basket to sleep. For a while she sews and when her candle gets low, she sets that aside and climbs into bed.

Bakura comes to her later that night, and right away begins kissing and touching her. Kisara responds willingly since Nak is in his basket and spreads her legs for Bakura without any worry. When Bakura has finished and is lying beside her, his breathing heavy and his come sticky on her stomach, Kisara touches his arm so that he can look at her. 

“Will you drive me from here then?” she asks. 

“What?” He sits up and though it's dark there is moonlight enough that she can see his incredulous look. 

“I don’t want to fight,” she says and Bakura gives a disgruntled noise. 

“You never want to,” he says and she can understand his disgust. He has been fighting since he was a boy and all Kisara has ever done is run away. But she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Bakura’s fight is not her fight. 

“I don’t,” Kisara agrees. 

“You would fight to protect Nak.” 

Kisara says nothing and glances at where Nak is sleeping beside the bed. She would prefer to take him and run away, if something came to that. Bakura sighs as if he can tell and Kisara wants to turn away from him and pretend she said nothing. 

Instead she sits up as well. 

“I won’t fight. I don’t hate pharaoh, I don’t know anything about him. I think what he did to you is wrong but I don’t pretend to understand. But I don't’ want to hurt anyone, not even for you or Nak or myself.” 

“I think you would kill for Nak,” Bakura insists. “But I know. You won’t fight. Nak will fight though. I’ll teach him.” 

“Did you...keep him to fight beside you?” Kisara asks as the realization slowly dawns on her. 

“He is the future of Kul Elna,” Bakura says, proud and insane. 

“He’s your son,” Kisara says. Her voice is loud enough now that Nak stirs and she stills. “He is our child.” 

“He will fight to defend what is his. Not for my revenge but for his father and his people and his home. Only you see anything wrong with that,” Bakura says scornfully. “Perhaps if you had fought you could have-”

“Stop,” Kisara says. She shuts her eyes because there is anger stirring in her and it only ever takes the shape of the white dragon. Her anger is deadly hot and all consuming. Bakura would love it. But it is not his, it is hers, and she wants nothing to do with it. 

Bakura lays his hand over hers. 

“I won’t send you away. You’re the mother of my child. The ghosts would be furious with me if I dishonored you now.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Kisara says, looking at Bakura. 

“You’ve given them something I never could,” Bakura says. “Kul Elna will live thanks to you. I haven't kept it alive, it’s been a graveyard this entire time, and I could never tell the difference. But now with you and Nak, it’s a home again.”

Kisara stares at him. Bakura looks away, making an irritated noise. 

“I don’t want you to leave. So stop talking about it like it would be the easiest thing in the world for you to do. I know you’re lying when you say it. And I don’t like to hear it.” 

Kisara puts a hand to his cheek, and he holds it in place as he closes his eyes. For a moment they stay like that, then Bakura’s grip tightens and he pulls her to him so he can kiss her. 

And then she’s in his lap, his cock hard against her. She takes it and slides it inside herself, riding him as he laps at her neck and breasts. It’s a struggle to stay quiet as she feels her pleasure build. But then his hands go to her cunt and she clenches down on him as she comes. 

Bakura takes her ass in his hands, making her bounce up and down on his cock, and Kisara nearly cries out when she starts to feel her pleasure build up again. He doesn’t pull his cock out this time as he comes and that knowledge makes Kisara moan out a second orgasm. 

Kisara stays like that as long as possible, trying to keep his come inside of her, though eventually his cock softens and falls out. She rolls off of him and curls herself up, keeping one hand over her cunt as it that would be enough to keep it all inside of her. 

Bakura huffs out a tired laugh and turns to lay an arm across her. 

“That eager to have the rest of my brats?” he asks. 

Kisara nods for she’s becoming greedy. She has a home and a child now, and if she can give Nak siblings, she will. Other women have more than one child. And so will she. Bakura will protect her from her perpetual bad luck.

#

“Oh,” Kisara says, running into Wenire the next day. 

Wenire has a large clay pot and by the sounds of it, it’s filled with some kind of liquid. At a guess Kisara would say he went to the river for he looks clean and he smells like the soap Bakura steals. 

She stares at him, trying to figure out what seems off. 

“Good day,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable. He scratches his neck and dips his head down, as he if wants to bow but isn’t sure. Nak is too busy enjoying the sunlight to pay attention to Wenire. But his movements catch Wenire’s attention. “He’s big.” 

“Yes.” Kisara doesn’t know how to talk to Wenire so instead she focuses on Nak. 

He’s in his sling, draped across her chest, and her look softens to see him at peace. Lately he hasn’t wanted to be in it, now that he’s taking steps and walking about, but sometimes it’s easier for Kisara to stick him in it, especially if she’s doing something outside of the house. 

She has batches of thread drying after being washed and Nak enjoys grabbing and tangling them far too much for Kisara to risk letting him roam free. 

“I don’t mean to make you feel…” And here Wenire drifts off, gesturing with his hands, though Kisara can’t understand what he means by it. “The Thief King has made it clear you are his, if that’s what you fear from me.” 

“Oh,” she says again. Maybe it had been a distant fear in her mind but Bakura is protective of that which he considers his. And Kisara has been his since the moment he stole her. 

“I know you’re not like us,” Wenire says. He shifting around and avoiding meeting her eyes for some reason and Kisara can’t figure it out. She frowns in her confusion and Wenire must misinterpret that to mean she’s irritated with him. “You don’t steal but that’s fine. I’m the intruder here.” 

“You are here,” Kisara says slowly. One hand rests on Nak’s head, to his displeasure, and she draws it away after a few moments. “And you are not dead.” 

Wenire blinks at her then he shuffles around a bit. 

“No, I’m not. And I could be. If The Thief King hadn’t-” 

“The ghosts are letting you live,” Kisara interrupts and Wenire stops. 

The mention of the ghosts is enough to send his gaze darting about as if he could see them. Kisara knows that look for once Bakura had told her that ghosts would leave her in peace, she hadn’t believed it and she’d walking around as cautiously as Wenire was.

“Bakura says they won’t bother me,” Wenire says slowly. 

Kisara’s not angry, per se, but something in her rankles. She’d had to bear a child so that the ghosts would leave her alone. What has Wenire done other than eat her food and spend a night in Kul Elna? 

Kisara turns and leaves him, unconcerned if he thinks she’s upset with him. It’s Bakura that she needs to exchange words with. 

For a rarity Bakura is working on a house. It’s not Wenire’s or theirs, which means he’s preparing for someone else entirely. That’s enough to set Kisara even more on edge for she has enjoyed their empty village far more than she had expected. But people will come if Bakura desires it. 

Bakura brushes his sweat away from his brow as he repairs the walls. He’s been salvaging stone and bricks from other houses, picking out the most sturdy to try to recover. Kisara watches him as he slides the bricks into place and slathers them in mortar. The walls aren’t tall enough yet for a roof.

The moment Bakura sees her he reaches out to take Nak from her, despite his hands covered in mortar and his body drenched in sweat. Bakura spends more days in Kul Elna now. It’s not because of Kisara nor would she ever give herself to that fantasy. Nak is who grounds him and keeps him here. 

“It’s nice to see you walking about,” Bakura says, and Kisara would be pleased by how happy he looks. But she has something to say first. 

“The ghosts leave him in peace. Why?” Kisara asks. 

“Because we’ve come to an agreement,” Bakura says, figuring out what she’s referring to after a few moments of hard thought. He looks up from Nak to meet her eyes. “Kul Elna will be rebuilt and once it is, we will wage war on Pharaoh once more. But this time I will win. We will win and Kul Elna will be avenged. I’ve told you this, don’t you pay attention to me?” 

Kisara can still remember the ghosts who attacked her. She struggles not to shiver in the heat. 

“That’s all it takes? Why couldn’t you have told the ghosts before-” 

“I don’t tell them to do anything,” Bakura says, his voice quiet and sharp. He glares daggers at her though his hands are still soft with Nak. “The ghosts have their own will. I can talk to them, I can attempt to bargain, but they will always do as they please. They want revenge. If they can see the means through which it will happen, they’ll gladly leave a few thieves alone so I can raise them up to become their soldiers.” 

Kisara doesn’t say anything but that’s because she’s just not sure how to word her frustration. Bakura exhales loudly. 

“And you have said it before time and time again that you won’t fight. So why should the ghosts have left you alone anymore than they did? You survived as long as you did because you listened to me, because you didn’t disobey, and the one time you stepped out from the protection of my house, the white dragon saved you. I don’t think you have much to complain about,” Bakura says. 

Kisara looks away, unsure of what to say to that. 

“You should have that man help you then,” she says. 

“He is. I needed more water and it was quicker to send him. And you kept wrinkling your nose at him so I told him to go bathe at the same time. I don’t know how you get so aggravated at smells,” Bakura says and he hands her Nak back. 

“That’s because your breath is awful and if I let you you’d go without bathing for months,” Kisara says for it doesn’t take Bakura long to get ripe. And she cannot stand the smell of an unwashed man. 

“Go away and let me work,” Bakura says. “I’m not taking a bath after this so don’t you dare make a face when I get into bed tonight.” 

“Wipe yourself down before you get into bed,” Kisara says with a shrug. She’ll make whatever expression she pleases and Bakura already reeks of sweat and dirt. 

Bakura grumbles something about ungratefulness as he turns back to pick up a brick and lay it in place. He’s smoothing out the mortar when he turns to see her still there. 

“What is it now?” 

“I like watching you,” Kisara says. He’s a good image right now, naked save for his waist wrap, covered in sweat and mud, his muscles straining and flexing as he works. 

“Go be useful and bring me something to eat,” Bakura says with a pleased chuckle. He turns back around though his movements are different now that he knows he’s being admired. 

Kisara makes no such effort to leave until she hears Wenire’s footsteps. 

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” Bakura says quietly as she turns away.

“Eventually,” Kisara agrees as she leaves, taking a different path to avoid meeting Wenire. 

If Bakura wishes to fill Kul Elna up with thieves again then it follows that the ghosts cannot be free to murder them as before. Kisara looks around the empty village as she returns home. Kul Elna is different now and soon it will begin to grow. 

Tomorrow, she tells herself. Tomorrow she will learn more about this strange man Bakura has brought that starts the beginning of his war.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And last chapter! At last! I hope you have enjoyed my pet ship. I've always wanted to sit down and write an outcastship so I'm glad I finally got around to it. Thank you all and I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> writing blog @ scribblyorro.tumblr.com

“Why do you steal?” Kisara asks Wenire later in the week.

They’re sitting in the large home they ate dinner in the first night and the lack of roof lets the air come in nicely during the day. Wenire was cleaning pieces of jewelry that Bakura had tossed aside since that was too much work for the likes of him and Kisara prefers to cook. 

Now he’s playing with Nak, fascinated by the boy. Nak had hid his face from him but after a few minutes his curiosity had gotten the better of him and now he was having a grand time with his new playmate. Nak’s world has consisted of two people and ghosts so despite herself, Kisara watches with interest at how he interacts with someone entirely new. 

Wenire tosses the leather ball to Nak who throws himself at it. He misses, badly, but he gets up to toddle after it without crying. Bakura would have been proud to see it but he’s off thieving. She’ll have to tell him about it when he returns. 

“It was easier,” Wenire says. He watches as Nak chases after the ball. “That bastard of a noble didn’t pay any of us enough. The other servants had family and between their incomes, they could survive. I had no one else. And it wasn’t my first time stealing. If I’d known I was going to get caught I wouldn’t have done it that day.” 

“Oh. So you were starving then. I suppose that makes sense,” Kisara says for she’s done the same thing. 

Wenire laughs at her. He’s had his wig off all day and his shorn hair is long enough that Nak can pull on it. Wenire doesn’t seem to mind for he continues to take Nak into his arms. He’s much more comfortable now that he doesn’t think there are ghosts hovering about ready to devour him whole. 

“I wasn’t starving. But I had so little to my name and he had so much. He wouldn’t have even missed those papyrus scrolls if that other servant hadn’t ratted me out.” Wenire laughs again. “It was my luck the Thief King was nearby to save my ass. 

Kisara looks at him. For the first time Kisara can understand the difference between a thief and the King of Thieves. Wenire could never dream of such a plan as going after Pharaoh himself. But he speaks like Bakura does when he’s not talking about his revenge and is merely recounting his stolen goods of the day. 

“You’ll get along with Bakura then,” she says with a shrug. 

“I’d like to think so,” Wenire says with a grin. 

Wenire picks up the ball and tosses it again for Nak to run after. Nak gives a happy little screech though Kisara winces a bit at all of the dust and dirt on him.

“Why are you going to fight against Pharaoh?” Kisara asks. 

“Because if he falls so does everything else. I’ve seen the Thief King’s power. If anyone can do it, he can, and I would like to be on his side while I have the chance,” Wenire says. He glances at Kisara. “For the first time in my life I have an opportunity. You’d have to be a fool to pass that up.” 

“Bakura knows I’m a coward,” Kisara says. She smiles inwardly. Wenire looks at her, thoughtful. He goes so long without speaking that Kisara thinks the conversation has finished. 

“I don’t think you are. I think you just want something different than he does. The Thief King’s plans are grand and most people don’t want that,” Wenire says. He tosses the ball up in the air a few times before sending it rolling off so Nak can toddle after it. “I don’t really care. You probably won’t help but as long as you don’t try to stop us, it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here, and that makes you just as bad in the eyes of Pharaoh.” 

“Pharaoh has never mattered to me,” Kisara says for he speaks his last words with a darker tone. 

“Like I said, you’re here,” Wenire says. 

Kisara shrugs for he’s probably right. But she doesn’t play the games that the nobles do and if she has a life that they disdain, that’s fine. She has a home and a child for the first time. 

#

The next people who come to Kul Elna are a pair of siblings that Wenire has worked with. They are much more like Bakura for they have stolen from tombs before and Bakura is delighted with them. He doesn’t say anything to her but from the way his eyes are alight, it’s clear that one of them has a ka.

Wenire leads them into the village and these two bring a bag each of their own belongings. Nak runs to Bakura the moment he sees strangers and peeks around his legs to keep a close eye on them. Bakura moves slowly so he doesn’t knock him over. 

“We brought an offering to the King of Thieves,” the sister says and she presents Bakura with a slaughtered fowl. He takes it with a sly grin and hands it off to Kisara. 

“Can you cook that?” He asks and Kisara nods, glad she isn’t holding Nak and a dead bird for Nak would have certainly tried to grab at it. As it is he switched to clinging to her legs since Bakura is moving around too much and he still tries to reach for it. 

“Let me show you around,” Bakura says and he leads the three away.

Kisara goes to cook, batting Nak’s hand away. Bakura rarely hunts, preferring to thieve, though he’s brought a few creatures when he doesn’t have the chance to steal meats. At least she knows how to prepare a goose. 

Bakura has been stealing food from nobles to show off to the thieves he is bringing into the village. Kisara doesn’t mind but sometimes she hasn’t a clue what he’s brought. And he usually just shrugs and tells her to serve it up all the same. 

Yesterday he brought a bag of dried fruit but they weren’t like anything Kisara had seen. She’d taken a bite of one assuming they were dates. Bakura and Wenire had happily eaten the rest.

No one bothers her as she cooks though once it starts getting darker Kisara starts eyeing the door, waiting for someone to come and find her. It’s not Bakura who comes to her door but Wenire. 

“The Thief King is asking for you. And the food,” Wenire says. 

Kisara shrugs at him and gestures to the waiting plates. Wenire catches her meaning and starts picking up bowls and jars to take. 

“What do you think of those two?” Kisara asks as she picks Nak up, bringing his basket along. He makes a displeased sound thinking Kisara is going to put him to bed already but she ignores him. 

“They are thieves,” Wenire says with a grin. “Thieves of the highest order for they steal from the dead like Bakura does.” 

“What does that mean?”

“I think they’ll like it here,” Wenire says as he helps Kisara bring all the plates of food to the larger house where they had dinner for his welcoming. Apparently it’s to be the place where they greet newcomers to the village. 

“And if they didn’t?” Kisara asks. 

“I suppose the Thief King would kill them,” Wenire says thoughtfully. “We don’t want Pharaoh knowing that we’re growing and getting ready for war. And you can’t trust a thief to keep their mouth shut.” 

Kisara says nothing to that because she can picture Bakura doing so without a qualm. Kul Elna has always been worth any sacrifice for him. 

She can hear him well before they enter the actual house. Bakura is loud, chattering about everything and nothing while the two thieves pay close attention to him. Kisara tunes him out and sets the bowls of food out, taking a large cup of wine before it runs out. The siblings are staring at her but she ignores them so she can eat and feed Nak. He’s been eating more solid foods lately and he constantly demands to try what she and Bakura eat. The lure of food banishes his fear of the strangers and though they glance over to watch him, he doesn’t notice them at all. 

Nak decides he likes the goose and tries to steal it from her plate though he turns his nose up at the pieces of fruits and vegetables she bites off for him. Kisara breaks little chunks of meat and sets them at the edge of her plate so he can think he’s being sneaky. 

He still has to drink milk from her and once he’s started stealing from Wenire’s plate, Kisara sets him at her breast. Nak doesn’t protest the change much but his attention remains on the solid food. 

Eventually Nak drops off and she tucks him into his basket, turning her face to the new thieves that are to make Kul Elna their home. They’re asking Bakura about the village, where they are to live and what it’s like. 

To her surprise he’s answering them rather truthfully. He tells them about the water situation and how it’s admittedly a hassle to live so far from the river. But the distance is what lets them hide from Pharaoh and from ordinary people who could stumble upon the village. 

“We heard of Wenire’s escape,” the man says looking at Wenire. “But we didn’t think he survived the desert.” 

“I’ll do more than survive here,” Wenire says. 

“I think we will too,” the woman says and then she laughs in relief. “We thought you were dead. When you showed up, I thought you had come back to show us the error of our ways and that we would have to give up this life of thievery.”

“We much prefer this outcome,” the man says. He doesn’t smile and Kisara doesn’t think that he ever has. “To live without fear of being caught, that alone is worth the effort, in my opinion.”

“If you know of anyone who you think would like to live here invite them,” Bakura says. “The more people to help us cause our chaos, the better.” 

The siblings look at one another, and the brother nods slowly. He takes a drink of wine and looks at Bakura, glancing between them all before speaking. 

“I’m sure we can think of a few people who would be interested. But don’t you think a city of thieves will simply turn on itself?” 

“Not if our enemy is Pharaoh,” Bakura says. He takes a long drink of beer then grins. “And not if I’m around to keep you bastards in your places.” 

Kisara lets herself smile at that one for now she’s certain he would murder them in a heartbeat if they became a threat in any way. The woman laughs and the man nods, the answer satisfying the both of them. 

Kisara finishes her wine and takes Nak back home, taking him out of his basket and laying him beside her. Bakura will spend a while yet entertaining his new soldiers. To her surprise he shows up before she falls asleep. 

“You couldn’t even wait for me,” Bakura says with a click of his tongue. 

“I thought you’d still be with your thieves,” Kisara mumbles, reluctantly opening her eyes. 

“They’re fine,” Bakura says as he climbs into bed. He doesn’t lie by Nak but curls himself around Kisara. “You should wait for me next time.” 

“Nak was asleep.” 

“In his basket. Don’t run off without me like that. I don’t want you leaving alone like that. You’re mine and you leave with me.” 

Kisara turns her head as much as she can to look at him. But Bakura has his head buried against her neck as much as possible and it’s impossible to read his expression. She shrugs and murmurs something that sounds vaguely agreeable but that she can plausibly deny later. 

She turns back around, comfortably warm and with Bakura’s arms around her it doesn’t take her long to fall properly asleep.

#

The siblings can roam Kul Elna almost instantly. Sesh is particularly fascinated with the ghosts and tries to learn as much about them as she possibly can. Bakura tells her little more than what he did the first night but she quickly figures out that they tend to follow Nak around. 

“He doesn’t seem frightened of them at all,” she points out as she helps Kisara grind bread chunks for beer. She doesn’t like the work but she does like the beer. Kisara doesn’t say anything when her mortar stills again as she watches the ghosts and Nak. 

“He’s known them for all of his life,” Kisara points out. It’s been more than a year and she’s still not used to them. She doesn’t think she ever will be. 

But Nak pays them almost no attention, something that she thinks both amuses and irritates the ghosts. He’ll occasionally stare at them but they never hold his interest for long. 

“Do you think he talks to them?” 

“No,” Kisara says. It’s a shame Sesh can talk above the sound of the mortar grinding. 

“But a child who is loved by ghosts, I would definitely think that he has some kind of gift or capacity for powers beyond this realm,” Sesh says. 

Kisara shrugs for it doesn’t seem like Sesh knows anything about ka yet and she’s not the person to explain anything about that subject. Sesh will find out in due time.

Sesh keeps asking questions and Kisara keeps ignoring them. It isn’t until something else catches Sesh’s attention that she stops asking about Nak and the ghosts. Ptahhotep comes down the main pathway and in the emptiness of the village it’s easy to spot him from far away. 

Kisara glances at him then looks away. Bakura hasn’t told him yet that he possesses the power of a ka. She knows that Bakura’s plan includes ka wielders but she hadn’t expected him to find one so soon. And though she has one of her own she still fears them. 

“What, what, the Thief King didn’t take you along today?” Sesh teases him and he crosses his arms. 

“I didn’t want to go, whatever you may think. He says he has something more he wants to discuss with me, personally, so I’m not to take too many risks until we can speak. And I wanted to stay and explore more of the village,” he says. But his gaze doesn’t leave Kisara and she finally looks up to stare back at him. “As expected, it’s been well and truly destroyed. Pharaoh wanted to be sure it died, I suppose.”

Sesh nods then grins a little as she notices his look. “She’s not for you, you know. She belongs to the Thief King.” 

“He knows that,” Kisara says softly. She puts her mortar down to the side and switches hers and Sesh’s bowls. 

“I’m trying to figure out your place in this village,” Ptahhotep says, his fingers tapping against his arm. “The Thief King says you are no thief. I suppose you are his wife but neither of you will answer to that. You bore him a child though so perhaps you are his whore. You must be his exclusively though for he’s made it clear no one is to have you but him. There’s something I’m missing for I cannot see the whole picture and-” 

“Oh shut up and go finish scouting the town,” Sesh says. “You’re working yourself in circles for no reason. Do you think she’s a threat? You can trust me to tell you that she is as gutless as they come. She won’t even force me to do my work, you think she’ll pose any sort of problem for us?” 

Kisara carefully focuses on grinding the bread. 

“This is why you keep on getting caught by Pharaoh’s men,” he says. “You don’t think about the whole situation. Anything little anomaly can undo a whole plan and when we intend to bring down Pharaoh, we cannot afford to have our plans turned upside down by such small, fixable issues.” 

“I was caught by them once and I wouldn’t have been had that piece of shit lookout done his job properly,” Sesh says with a scowl. She stands up to glare at her brother in the face. 

“He died thanks to his incompetence, if that’s any consolation,” he says. 

Kisara scoops Nak up and leaves the siblings to their bickering. She leaves the ground bread behind too, figuring Sesh can bring it back once she has finished. 

“This place has gotten much louder, Nak,” she says to him as she goes to get her sewing.

Nak blinks at her then says something in his baby gibberish. Kisara smiles at him. 

“You are still the loudest,” she says to him and he grins at her. 

#

“Ptahhotep has found a man who will sell us stone so we can rebuild some more of the houses,” Bakura says as he drinks his last beer of the night. 

“That’s good,” Kisara says, more focused on rocking Nak. He prefers to play at night rather than sleep lately and it’s a long ordeal to get him to sleep. 

“He was a good find,” Bakura says. “Not only has he robbed tombs and despises Pharaoh, he holds a ka inside him. If only every man I find could be as talented.” 

“How did his training go?” Kisara asks and Bakura snaps his look to her. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

Kisara shrugs and Bakura narrows his eyes at her. He doesn’t answer and so Kisara goes to lie Nak down, hoping that if he’s on the bed he’ll finish going to sleep. Instead it wakes him up and he scampers to Bakura to play. 

Bakura always indulges Nak and he opens his arms to him, letting the boy crawl into his lap and babble about everything. Nak frowns when Bakura doesn’t talk back to him and starts reaching up to yank on his hair, which he discovered a while ago nets interesting reactions. 

“It will be difficult,” Bakura admits, scowling as he pulls Nak’s hand away from his head. “He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing though he’s eager harness its power. Even if he does learn I don’t think it’ll be that strong. We can train it but I’m hoping it has a unique ability otherwise it’ll have to be used as bait.” 

“Oh,” she says. 

It’s not surprising that Bakura would think so coldly but she had expected him to take slightly better care of the ka wielders. Perhaps he expects more since his ka is so powerful; though she knows little of ka even she can recognize that Bakura’s Diabound is a unique case for the tragedy of Kul Elna is singular. 

Bakura starts poking Nak in the belly and arms, which causes him to shriek in anger and amusement, depending on how hard Bakura jabs. Kisara watches since it’s clear that Nak won’t be going to sleep any time soon. 

Bakura has already promised her that she needn’t fight the Pharaoh. He wishes for its power, but denying Pharaoh and the Priests her ka is a victory as well, and Bakura has satisfied himself with that. It’s a compromise that she never thought he would make for her. 

And yet a thought churns in her mind that will not cease especially as she watches Nak tire Bakura out. 

“Damn you and go to sleep,” Bakura finally says and puts Nak in his basket. 

Nak immediately gets out and Bakura sets him back in, glaring at him to stay. It’s rare that Bakura gets firm with Nak and he starts crying but he stays in his basket for once. Kisara looks at Bakura who directs his glare to her. 

“Don’t you dare help him.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” she says. It’s good that Nak will listen to someone for he’s as stubborn as they come though considering his father it would be a miracle if he wasn’t so hard headed. 

“Good,” Bakura says and with a final warning to Nak, he lies down and gets comfortable to go to sleep. 

Kisara goes to put out the light then climbs back into bed, taking a glance at Nak to be sure he has stopped bawling. He’s finally going to sleep, exhausted and chastised, but quiet. 

The village is still quiet at night, for the addition of three people doesn’t yet make a difference. The thieves cannot reconcile themselves with being active when it’s dark for the ghosts fly about freely. Their screams are different, more talkative and eager, but to a newcome they must sound like death. 

Kisara rests her hand on her heart. Bakura has said that Nak bears a ka but he’s still too young to unleash it. Only a great terror or fear for his life will cause it to come out at this age. And even Bakura was older when Diabound first appeared. 

Nak though lives in relative security and Bakura doubts his ka will appear any time soon. Thankfully Bakura has expressed little interest in summoning it, though he does speculate every now and again how powerful it will be. 

Ptahhotep’s training has taken priority over Nak’s potential though. Kisara’s breath catches for a moment for now Bakura has his first true soldier to fight Pharaoh. This war is no longer just talk but a plan being prepared. 

And it is one that both Bakura and Nak will be involved in.

“Teach me,” Kisara says and Bakura groans. 

“I was about to fall asleep, you fucking ass,” he says and flips over. 

“I want to use my ka as you do. I need to.” 

Bakura rolls back over, wide awake. 

“I was wrong,” Kisara murmurs. “I would unleash the white dragon for Nak.” 

“I know you would,” Bakura says. His smile is triumphant but faint and it’s not as galling as Kisara had imagined it would be. “I always knew that even if you didn’t.” 

Bakura reaches over to bring his forehead to hers, his hand brushing her cheek. Kisara watches as he falls asleep like that and waits until he’s sound asleep to wrap her arms around him. It’s easier than trying to explain her supposed sudden change of heart. 

#

“I can’t believe you left your ka to watch over our child,” Kisara repeats again as they leave Kul Elna. 

“Shut up. I trust Diabound more than I trust myself,” Bakura says with a scowl. He’s looking back more than Kisara is though. “And I don’t trust those other three yet.” 

“You brought them here,” Kisara points out. 

“To fight a war, not to watch my son,” Bakura says. 

“You brought them here.” 

Bakura mutters something unintelligible which Kisara ignores. Rather than taking them to same expanse of desert as the time he attempted to draw out the white dragon, he takes her to the riverside. 

“I won’t be attacking you with Diabound,” Bakura says as she steps into the water, unable to help herself. 

Kisara doesn’t say anything out loud but her look is enough. She reaches down to cup some water and tosses it above her, smiling as it falls in small cool droplets.

“What I mean is, I won’t be attacking you again like I did before,” Bakura says, only slightly annoyed that she’s playing more in the river than paying attention to him. “It clearly didn’t do any good.”

Kisara nods at that, dropping her hands to focus on him. He comes up behind her, water splashing as he steps into the river, and covers her eyes with his hands. 

“You said you would kill for Nak. The white dragon is the part of you that can kill. Focus on that,” Bakura says. 

“Do you have to-?”

“Yes. Now shut up and focus,” Bakura says. 

Kisara sighs but attempts to listen. It’s the first time she has tried to bring the dragon out rather than suppress it. But it’s hard when she can feel Bakura’s hands on her face, steady and warm. She feels like she can hear his heartbeat too, the same as his hands, and she wishes she could press up against him and stay like that. 

The water ripples and moves around her ankles, the sound a gentle noise that she’s always been able to fall into and escape from the world around her. But she doesn’t need that escape for she has a home and family now. 

Kisara refuses to imagine Nak being hurt, for she’ll never let that happen. He will be safe even if Bakura drags him into battle for Nak will grow up strong and loved. Nak won’t starve or be beaten; he won’t suffer as his parents did for the two of them will protect him. 

Bakura will protect Nak with Diabound. Kisara will do the same with the white dragon and she suppresses a shiver as a chill runs down her spine despite the heat. 

If she can’t control the white dragon then a day will come when she’ll bring harm to Nak and that can never happen. She refuses to let that possibility come to fruition. 

She will be strong for her son. She has to be. 

Then the ground is gone and it’s like her dreams, where flying is the simplest action in the world and it comes to her as naturally as breathing. 

The sun is hot but the wind is cool, and if she had skin she’s sure it would be torn off. But her body is hard and strong and nothing can harm her now. 

She roars and screams because the sky is hers. The world is hers for she is fire and air. 

Enemies will be burnt and devoured for she will always protect that which is hers. She is fierce and sharp enough to destroy that which would threaten her. 

And down below on the ground are people, little dots that barely move but that matter somehow. She watches them for a moment then exhales as she remembers.

The first thing Kisara is aware of is Bakura’s hand on her arm, gripping her so tight that she thinks he’s going to leave a bruise. 

“Ow,” Kisara says, unable to think of anything more eloquent than that. 

Bakura let's go in an instant. 

“You’re back. I didn’t know how to bring you back. You were flying around up there, the white dragon was above the clouds, and I didn’t think you could hear me calling out to you-” 

“Was I?” Kisara asks.

“Do you remember anything?” Bakura asks. 

Kisara looks up at the sky. She starts to shake her head then stops. 

“You looked small,” Kisara says. 

“What?” 

“From up there,” Kisara says, pointing to the sky. She drops her hand back down. “So small. You want to fight Pharaoh and kill him, burn down his kingdom like he burned your home. But you are one man, Bakura, and this quest will kill you.” 

“You-” His voice is angry but Kisara keeps talking. 

“I don’t want to fight and I don't want to kill. But I don’t want you or Nak to die. And I cannot do that as I am right now, as a human. I have to be more, I have to be able to control the dragon that I possess, because I cannot lose you two.”

Bakura huffs out a laugh. 

“I thought I was bad at knowing my own heart,” Bakura says. 

“Can we hurry back to Nak now?” Kisara whispers. 

“Trust me, he’s fine. Diabound will take care of him better than I ever could,” Bakura says. 

“Don’t say such stupid things,” Kisara says and Bakura’s grin widens as he helps her up. 

They return to find that Nak is, unsurprisingly, stuck in a water jug. Diabound is solemn faced as he attempts to pull him out but he’s struggling since he’s all claws and sharp points. Kisara gives Bakura a look and for once he has the decency to appear ashamed. 

Nak screams when Kisara yanks him out though he stops when he sees Bakura and Kisara. Instead he grins and babbles at them, his hair sopping wet from the water. 

“This is your child,” Kisara says. 

“Ours,” Bakura reminds her. 

Kisara strokes Nak’s wet hair from his face then hands him to Bakura. 

“Ours. And you’re cleaning him up.” 

Bakura makes a face at her then goes to dry Nak off, scolding the boy as he tries to sit him on the bed though Nak keeps trying to wander off and argues back. Kisara watches them then takes pity on Bakura and holds Nak so that Bakura can properly dry him. 

Kisara and Bakura laugh as Nak shakes his head, sending his still wet hair flying about and sticking to his face. He reaches up to push it out of his eyes and grins at them. 

Bakura says that ka are for vengeance but the white dragon within Kisara is to protect this precious family of hers. She will keep them safe when Bakura fights Pharaoh. Bakura plans for a war but it is Kisara who will protect them to live to another tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved and appreciated <3


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